


collapse in threads

by sky_somedays



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Car Accidents, Death, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Burn, accidental injury, mild religious elements/themes, reluctant ghost whispering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_somedays/pseuds/sky_somedays
Summary: “Shane Madej, did you just use a basketball reference to tell me you want to be my superhero sidekick?”Shane’s expression is long-suffering. “Jesus Christ. You got me. That’s the insidiousness of your influence."





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**Author's Note:**

> a misfits-inspired superhero/powers au that really got away from me. it’s been sitting in my drafts since _june_ fucking yikes.
> 
> title from God’s Plan by CHVRCHES

Ryan and Shane become superheroes in November.

Shane refuses to use the  _s_  word (even now, June, months later) but it’s all Ryan can talk about. What happened (they acquired abilities that science can’t explain), where it happened (a quiet stretch of field in Idaho), when it happened (noon on a Tuesday), how it happened (a freak storm; a lightning strike), and, most enticingly,  _why_  it happened (they have no idea). “Maybe it’s fate,” Ryan says, staring at the dusty ceiling of the Holiday Inn they’re staying at. He reaches his arms out ahead of him, sketching movements in the air as he talks. “Maybe we were meant to be there on that day at that time, just the two of us, and now – now –”

“Now we’re – all fucked up,” Shane says. He’s methodically unpacking their clothes into the dresser. He has started doing this when they stay anywhere longer than two nights, despite Ryan arguing that it’s pointless and that they’re just going to pack it all back away anyway.

“Maybe it matters that we were on our way to a location when it happened! Maybe we pissed off a demon.”

“You’ve said this before,” Shane says. He sounds tired.

“You could ask,” Ryan suggests, knowing what Shane’s answer will be. “Next time you see one.”

“I don’t see demons.” Shane zips up their empty bags, not looking at Ryan. “And I’m not asking. They don’t even talk.”

“You could try,” Ryan says.

“We’ve been over this. It won’t work. I’m not  _talking_  to them.”

Ryan bites back a response, eyes following a crack in the ceiling paint. It’s not worth arguing about, not worth jeopardizing their rapport the night before a shoot. Shane has always been easygoing until he’s not, prone to bouts of sullen silence whenever their arguing goes too far. Since the storm the line has been easier to accidentally cross. Ryan assumes it’s a byproduct of being so thoroughly proven wrong – but he keeps that to himself.

 

*

 

Shane doesn’t tell Ryan he can see ghosts for a while. They go about their lives post-storm like nothing happened, like it might not have been as terrible as they imagined. Time does that, Ryan knows, distorts memories until they are either larger or smaller than reality. Neither of them have scars like Ryan has seen on Google. Neither of them have any injuries at all, in fact, not even a bruise or scrape. As if from a dream, Ryan remembers the lightning, the pain, but – there’s no proof. There’s no video. It’s the toothpaste all over again, but without a recording, Ryan can’t trust himself. He doesn’t admit this to Shane, of course.

It’s mid-December before Shane finally breaks his silence. He pulls Ryan aside after filming has wrapped for the day and they’re trudging back to their cheap motel. Devon and TJ are up ahead, arguing about whether or not they need to reshoot the intro. Shane grabs Ryan’s elbow.

“What?” Ryan asks.

“I think I’m going crazy,” Shane says, and his face is paler than normal. He looks like he’s holding it together, but barely. “Did – did you see anything back there, while we were filming?”

Ryan frowns. “See anything?”

“Anything that freaked you out. You seemed really calm.”

“Yeah, because we got a fat lot of nothing again.” They were on a dud streak, a fact not going unnoticed by the crew. Ryan could see the pages and pages of snarky comments from fans already.

“Oh.” Shane actually stops in the middle of the frosty sidewalk. They’re two blocks from the motel.

“Everything okay?” Devon calls.

Shane doesn’t move. Ryan’s got a backpack full of heavy equipment that’s digging into his shoulders and a bone-deep need for sleep, but Shane looks genuinely vulnerable standing under the weak light of the street lamps, and Ryan relents. “Yeah,” he answers, waving Devon and TJ on. “We’ve got our room key, we’ll catch up.” He thinks he hears them snicker.

“You’re sure you didn’t see anything?” Shane asks, urgent.

“No, nothing. What’s going on big guy?”

“I’m going crazy,” Shane repeats, “I’m losing it, Ry. I saw a ghost.”

“Oh ha, ha,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. “So original. I get it, we’ve had some slow episodes, no need to –”

“I’m not doing a bit. I’m fucking – I’m serious.”

Ryan scrutinizes him. Shane’s expression is definitely convincing. “Look, I admit I’m impressed that you’ve kept a straight face this long.”

“Forget it,” Shane snaps, and starts walking again. Ryan waits for him to turn around, smack his hand against his own thigh, wink, do a jig, anything, but Shane just keeps walking, slouchier and stiffer than normal.

“You’re committed, I’ll give you that,” Ryan calls after him. Shane doesn’t even indicate he heard, doesn’t flip him off. Ryan jogs to catch up.

They walk to the motel in silence. Shane has his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched inwards. He doesn’t look at Ryan. Ryan unlocks the door to their shared room and Shane goes straight to the bathroom. Ryan hears the click of the lock and the hiss of the shower.  _He’s taking a tantrum shower_ , Ryan thinks, and he’s annoyed for a moment.

He busies himself on his laptop. When Shane emerges from the bathroom, wearing a towel and a shuttered expression, Ryan tries to seem engrossed in his screen.

He breaks almost immediately. “Are you okay?” he asks as Shane pulls on a t-shirt. “You seem mad, which doesn’t make any sense since you were the one that started the bit.”

“It’s not a bit,” Shane says tightly. “I think I’ve had like – a breakdown, or something.”

Ryan closes his laptop and puts it on the nightstand, turns to face Shane across the gap between their beds. “Okay,” he says, “try me.”

Shane shoots him a look. he seems  _distrustful_ , and that just makes Ryan feel like a piece of shit. “I saw something,” Shane says.

“What? What’d it look like?”

“Like – like a hazy shape at first, like a lens flare or something. But it didn’t go away and it, uh. Followed us. You.”

“Like a lens flare?”

“Yeah, but I was seeing it with my eyes, not – it didn’t show up on my camera. I checked.”

“You’re – you’re sure it wasn’t like, dust in your eye or something?” It strikes Ryan as weird that he’s arguing against this but it’s  _Shane_  and a small part of Ryan is still suspicious.

“No. I thought that too, but I rubbed my eyes, I moved around to different angles, I tried staying still – it wasn’t moving with me.”

“How’d I not notice you doing all that?”

“You were busy. I don’t know. I didn’t want to say anything with the others there, with the – uh, the cameras. I sound like a fucking nut.”

Ryan stares at him for a moment. He can feel himself falling for it, despite himself. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Eventually I could kind of see more, it was a person – a woman, I think.”

Ryan can feel his eyes drying up, they’re so wide. “Holy  _shit_.”

“It just felt like it was my eyes playing tricks on me or something, like I kept thinking: maybe I’m overtired? Maybe I accidentally, I don’t know – ate something weird again? Maybe I was dreaming? But she was there the whole time, while we were walking around and looking in closets and whatever.”

There’s a pause. Ryan waits for Shane to break character, grin, point and laugh. He doesn’t. The moment stretches and stretches.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Ryan says, “ _ghosts are real._ ”

“That’s – what I’m saying. Yeah.” The tension of the moment snaps then, and Shane laughs, something relieved in it. “Either that or I’m sliding into madness.”

“No, no, you saw a  _ghost_. Ghosts are  _real_.” Ryan’s whole mind is buzzing. He feels like he did the first time he got stoned. “Wait – you said you’d tell me if you ever saw anything! What happened to that? What happened to ‘if I ever see a ghost with my  _own two eyes_  I’ll admit it right away’?”

“I thought I was – hallucinating or something. It wasn’t  _fun_.” Shane pauses. “I probably was hallucinating. Nobody else saw anything. There’s no proof.”

“Fuck you, you’re not getting out of this.  _You saw a ghost_.”

Shane looks at him for a long moment. “There’s nothing to put in the episode.”

“Who cares about the episode! You saw a ghost! This is – this is  _everything_.”

Shane doesn’t say anything. He’s still looking at Ryan, something soft and strange in his expression.

Ryan is barreling along, his thoughts travelling a mile a minute. “Describe the ghost. What was she wearing? Did she gesture? Make any noise? Did she seem sad? Angry? How big was she? Did you feel anything – cold, or a sense of dread?”

“I did feel a sense of dread,” Shane says, “because I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Do you think she was corporeal? Was she – like a mist? God, I wish I’d seen her. Fuck. 

“You’re – wow.” Shane throws his hands up. “I wish you’d seen her, too.”

They don’t get any sleep that night 

 

*

 

It’s not until Shane has seen three ghosts at three different locations that he’s willing to admit that maybe he isn’t going crazy.

“You’ve got a  _gift_ ,” Ryan tells him, jealousy and awe clawing at his insides. “You’ve got the vision.”

“Shut up,” Shane mumbles. He’s sprawled on his hotel bed, one arm flung over his face like he’s just collapsed onto his fainting couch. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t  _want_  it.”

“You’re just mad you’re now a hashtag-Boogara. The Shaniacs are over!”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about Shaniacs and Boogaras at a time like this.”

“It’s relevant.”

“I hate you,” Shane says, voice muffled.

Ryan ignores him. “You’re – you’ve got a superpower. You’re a  _superhero_.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shane tells him, but he’s cracking up. “Who calls seeing ghosts a superpower? How could they possibly make a movie for this?”

“Whatever. I’m gonna get you a cape,” Ryan says serenely, joining Shane on the bed. He folds his hands behind his head, his elbow brushing Shane’s arm. “And it’s gonna have  _Boogara_  written on it, with a ghost underneath.”

“Okay,” Shane says. He turns to face Ryan, and he’s laughing all the way up to his eyes. It makes Ryan warm all over. “You gonna be my sidekick?”

Ryan grimaces. “I mean, I guess. Since I didn’t get a power.”

“You’re the only person who knows about mine,” Shane tells him with a shrug. “You’re like – my accomplice.”

It does feel important, somehow, that Ryan is the only one who’s in on the secret. Ryan thinks that maybe knowing about Shane’s power is a power all of its own. He resolves to be happy with that.

 

*

 

Ryan doesn’t realize he has a power, too, until he dies.

They’re on location in some dingy old house. It’s the end of January, cold and damp. Ryan is aware of Shane being just a little too quiet and rigid. They have a rule against Shane giving anything away while the cameras are on them, but Ryan can tell that Shane has seen something. They haven’t had a good EVP or even a believable spirit box exchange in three episodes and Ryan is starting to feel a little desperate. The second floor is cordoned off, they were told that it was employees only, but there’s no sign and they don’t have a tour guide.  _Fuck it_ , he thinks.

“I’m going up to the second floor – they said that sometimes people hear footsteps in the room below, but when there are people up here nobody can hear anything.”

“We’re not supposed to go up there,” TJ says.

“Well, I’m feeling brave today.” Ryan hops the cord and ascends a few steps. “You guys go listen from the living room, see if you can hear me moving around up here.”

They let him go. Shane doesn’t argue – a sign, Ryan has learned, that he has not only seen something, but something  _bad_. “C’mon,” he says under his breath, swinging his flashlight up and down the landing. “C’mon you fuckers. I know you’re here. Let me see you.”

Ryan can hear his heart hammering in his ears now that he’s alone, stepping into the front bedroom with his light held aloft. The floor creaks with every step, floorboards groaning. They’re smooth from wear. Ryan tries to remember how old this house is as he scans all the dark nooks and crannies. He tries to count his breaths: in for five, out for five, repeat, repeat, as he checks behind the door. The room is completely empty, unlike the other rooms that retain their dusty furniture. As he walks into the middle of the room, he notices the floor is sagged in the middle. He stamps his feet a few times to give Shane more of a chance to hear something. It would make a good focal point for the episode if they can prove that normal footsteps can’t be heard from below. He stamps again, louder this time. The boards give another prolonged groan of protest 

Ryan doesn’t even register that he’s falling until he hits the ground below. There’s a crack, a wrenching feeling in his neck. Everything is dark, suddenly.

There’s a chorus of shouts. “What the  _fuck_? What happened?”

“Ryan! Ryan did you fall? Ryan?” 

“Oh  _fuck_.”

“Call 911!”

Ryan’s senses trickle back to him gradually.  _The floor gave out_  he thinks.  _I’m a fucking moron_. He wonders if anyone else was hurt. He’s aware that he’s lying on his back, and that he landed on his shoulder and neck somehow. There’s pain blooming all along his body. He can’t breathe.

A voice that sounds like Shane’s, closer than the others: “God fuck, Jesus, no, no – Ryan! Ryan, don’t you fucking dare –”

“Shane,” he tries to say, to reassure him, but he can’t make a sound. The effort tears at his throat. More pain. His own heartbeat is faint. He hasn’t taken a breath since he landed, he realizes.

_My body is shutting down_  flits through his mind. He knows this is bad.  _I’m dead_  he thinks, distantly, his own mind starting to get loose and frayed at the edges.

And he is. For a second.

And then he’s back, his neck still twisted in a way that Ryan  _knows_  means it’s broken. His entire body still hurts, but it’s in a detached kind of way. Ryan hears distant screaming now, feels movement above and around him. The light is coming back. 

“ _Ryan_.” Shane’s voice is close by, raw. awful. “They’re – they’ve called for an ambulance, Ryan, just don’t move, hold on –”

Ryan doesn’t even realize he’s reaching for Shane until his hand collides with flannel. Shane makes a choked sound. “No, no – keep still –” Warm fingers on Ryan’s skin, bracing his arm. “You’ll hurt yourself, don’t move.” 

Shane has to realize that’s not true. Ryan can imagine what he looks like, imagines Shane trying to pretend that there is any way for Ryan to survive this. It’s hilarious, suddenly, and he barks out a laugh.

“Ryan?”

Without considering that it might be a bad idea, he sits up. His head is still skewed at a terrible angle.

“Fuck – fuck, what the hell, Ryan – your neck –”

“I’m okay,” Ryan says, but it comes out more like a weird gasp. Everything is misaligned. His head is twisted over his shoulder, the vertebrae jumbled, and Ryan probes along it with fingers that are starting to regain sensation. Breathing hurts – he needs to straighten his windpipe.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Shane whispers. He’s crouching in front of Ryan so all Ryan can see is the side of his face in his peripheral vision. “You shouldn’t be able to do any of this, what the  _fuck_. You need to stop moving. Ry, stop moving.”

_Fuck it_  Ryan thinks for the second time that night. He grabs hold of his own face with both hands and twists – cracking sounds, bones and muscle settling into place, his crumpled airway righting itself. He takes his first proper breath since he hit the floor. He sees Shane, whose face is only inches from his own, ashen and horrified. Ryan smiles.

Shane faints.

 

*

 

“I’m immortal,” Ryan says a few hours later. They’re in the ER waiting room of the nearest hospital. TJ is typing up a report for HR in the corner and Devon and the crew are off looking for somewhere that sells decent food at 3am. It’s quiet. Shane is sitting next to him, their arms overlapping on their shared armrest. Shane’s got a death grip on Ryan’s hand that neither of them has acknowledged yet.

“I’m immortal,” Ryan says again, quietly. Testing it out. “I – I kinda died, but then I came back.”

“You came back,” Shane repeats, and his voice is odd, fraught. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m not,” Ryan says, and he squeezes Shane’s hand. “I’m not dead.”

“I thought I was going to  _see_  you.” Shane squeezes back. “I was so worried I was going to see you. I don’t ever want to see you like that.”

“Tough luck, pal. I’m definitely haunting you if I die.”

Shane opens his mouth as if to argue, but seems to think better of it. When he speaks his tone is deliberately light-hearted. “Fine. Just give a guy some warning first, okay? None of this appearing in front of me when I least expect it bullshit.”

Ryan nods, happy to let Shane have the last word for once. He realizes he’s stroking the back of Shane’s hand with his thumb, absent-minded. “Sorry – you probably want your hand back.”

“I absolutely do not.” Shane’s grip tightens. “I still feel like you should be dead. This is good.” He pulls Ryan’s hand into his lap, wrapping it in both of his. “I kind of want to keep ahold of you for a while. Is that okay?”

The words get stuck in Ryan’s throat. “Ye-yeah. Whatever you want, big guy.” He coughs. “Did –? You saw something, right? Before I fell.”

Shane nods. He’s not looking at Ryan, is staring at their interlocked hands. “It was, um. It was bad. It was kids – I can’t handle it when it’s kids.” 

“Kids, plural?”

“Yeah.” Shane’s face is drawn. “It was really fucking bad.”

“Do you think they made me fall? Broke the floor? I don’t even know if that’s possible.”

“No, I don’t think so. They weren’t really interested in us. I think it was just an old shitty house.” Shane blinks a few times, hard, like he’s trying to clear sunspots from his vision. “I can’t believe I let you go up there. I was busy trying to hold it together, I was distracted, I should have said something – Ry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ryan says. his voice comes out hoarse. “It wasn’t your fault, Shane.”

“If – if it wasn’t, like,  _weird_ , I’d – cradle you like a babe in arms.”

Ryan has no idea if this is a bit or not, tries to adjust to the change in tone. “Really? Would you sing me a lullaby too?”

“Obviously. I do a great  _Rock-A-Bye Baby_.”

Ryan lets himself laugh at how bizarre everything is. It shakes out of his chest, just a shade hysterical, but it’s good to feel it. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah. I’ve got great Yelp ratings. From, you know, babies. Who have rated my lullabies.”

“Do they hire you? To come to their houses and sing them lullabies?”

“Don’t be  _ridiculous_ , Ryan, babies don’t own houses!”

“Hey, chuckleheads.” TJ appears in front of them, arms crossed, looking more like a stressed dad than usual. “I think we’re done here. We can head back to the motel.” 

“Do we have grounds to sue?” Shane asks, sounding hopeful. “Can we finally retire from this cruel life of ghost hunting?”

“The property owners aren’t liable since we were trespassing.” TJ looks pointedly at Ryan. “But as it turns out, everyone’s just glad that Ryan didn’t die. So no legal action either way.”

Shane shrugs. “We’ll take it.”

They hold hands out of the hospital, in the car, all the way back to the motel. Devon and the crew meet them there with burritos and beer and everyone piles into Ryan and Shane’s shared room, crowding onto the two twin beds. Shane and Ryan sit thigh-to-thigh against one of the headboards. Shane holds Ryan’s hand between bites and it feels – not normal, exactly, but nothing feels normal anymore. It feels right. When everyone leaves it’s nearly 6am and Ryan’s eyes keep slipping closed, each blink hard work. Shane eases off the bed for a moment and Ryan immediately mourns the contact – but Shane doesn’t go to his own bed, just removes Ryan’s shoes and then his own. Ryan crawls under the covers and lifts one corner for Shane to join him.

 

*

 

They don’t talk about any of it right away. They catch their flight at noon and nap through the whole thing. When they get back to LA they share a Lyft to Shane’s apartment and Ryan only hesitates for a second when Shane waves for him to follow as he steps out of the car.

“Feels weird being alone right now,” Shane says, hoisting both his and Ryan’s bags onto his shoulder. “Want to stay over? I was just going to crash again.” 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Ryan says, relieved. “Thanks.”

Inside, Shane drops their bags and kicks off his shoes, pads off down the hall. Ryan has been in Shane’s apartment a million times but never at night, just the two of them, with no real plans. He looks around as he toes off his sneakers. Shane isn’t a packrat by any stretch but he owns more weird, curated things than Ryan. He has art on his walls, a few insects mounted behind glass. A taxidermy rat dressed like a tiny king, complete with crown, is perched on top of his bookshelf. There’s a bowl of lanyards on one of the shelves. Ryan spots the purple of Knotts Berry Farm on top.

“Will you be okay on the couch?” Shane asks, reappearing with his arms full of sheets and blankets.

“Yeah, of course.” Ryan pretends he doesn’t feel a tiny pinch of disappointment. “Thanks bud.”

Shane makes the couch up like a bed, fitted sheet and all. He fluffs up the pillow exaggeratedly, flaps each layer around like he’s trying to fan a fire. He unfurls a green and yellow patchwork quilt over the whole thing. 

“Nice quilt,” Ryan says. He means it as a joke, kind of, but it comes out sincere.

“My mom made it.” Shane tucks the bottom under the couch cushions, squares off the corner. “There.” He pulls something out of his pocket and puts it on the pillow with a flourish.

“Is – is that chocolate? Where’d you even get that?”

“Trade secret.” Shane winks at him. “I hope you enjoy your stay at Chez Madej. Check-out’s at eight complementary toast will be provided at seven thirty.”

“Chez Madej,” Ryan wheezes. “God.” 

“Do you need anything else? Fresh towels? Need your shoes polished?”

“I think I’m good.” Ryan sits down on the quilt, smothers a yawn in the crook of his elbow. “Feels weird to be here. Back in LA, I mean. Like – back home, you know? Everything’s normal but I’m immortal now.” 

Shane drops down next to Ryan, groans loudly. “You’re going to be  _insufferable_  about this, aren’t you?”

“Shane, we have  _powers_.” Ryan plucks the chocolate from his pillow and unwraps it. “We’re living a movie plot. I died and came back. You can see ghosts. If I wasn’t so tired I’d be losing my mind.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.” Shane steals the chocolate, eats half of it and passes it back.

“It was the storm in November,” Ryan says. “It had to be. We both felt really weird after, right? And we passed out.”

He’s surprised when Shane doesn’t argue. “Yeah, that was pretty weird.” 

“Maybe the lightning rewired our brains. Or something.”

“Lightning doesn’t work like that,” Shane says absently. “Probably.”

“Maybe we  _already_  had powers and the storm activated them!”

“Christ.”

“Maybe it – zapped us into another dimension where we have powers.”

“Fuck. Maybe. I don’t even know anymore, literally  _anything_  could be true.” Shane looks truly bereft at this prospect. “You must be loving this. Proven right.”

“Yeah.” Ryan yawns again. His whole body is sagging, every muscle protesting. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so tired. “I think maybe – I’m in shock, or something. It hasn’t felt real. Nothing’s felt real since before I died.”

Shane hums. They’re only a few inches apart – Ryan wants to lean against him.

“I wonder – what this means. If I’m immortal. Will I – age?”

Shane clucks, reaches his arm out and reels Ryan in like he can read his thoughts. “Nope, enough of that. We’re too tired and it’s too late and we – we don’t know enough. No hypothesizing.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, his eyes already drifting shut. Shane’s arm is a warm weight around him, an instant relief. “No hypothesizing.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up he is tucked under the quilt.

 

*

 

Shane drives them to work the next morning. He stops at Aroma so that Ryan can get coffee and grumbles about traffic and pollution, keeps changing Ryan’s music back to talk radio. Ryan’s grateful for the sense of normalcy, the easy bickering.

They don’t talk about what his power could mean – Ryan, alive forever, watching everyone he loves die, possibly without aging – and Ryan’s grateful for that too.

 

*

 

The weirdest thing is that not much changes. They still go to work, they still pitch episodes and edit and write scripts, they still go out with their friends and sing karaoke. Sometimes Ryan will be in the midst of a group, drink in hand, laughing too loudly at some joke that isn’t that funny, and suddenly he remembers – he’s immortal. Sometimes he catches Shane’s eye across a room, each engrossed in separate conversations, and he knows Shane has remembered too. He wonders, even more than before, if there are ghosts around. Every time Shane pauses, frowns, flinches, he wonders what he saw.

While the rest of their lives remain the same, things between them start to change. Ryan notices it by degrees – more time spent just the two of them, more significant glances. They spend time outside of work together now not just because they want to, but because they need to. Sometimes Ryan will knock on Shane’s door late at night and start talking the second Shane answers, no preamble, no greeting.  _I was reading some great articles about lightning strikes and I have a theory – did you see a ghost earlier? It seemed like you did – I felt a chill earlier, I think it was a ghost, I wish you’d been there to check_. Shane just lets him in and listens to him ramble, hands him a beer. Ryan can admit that it’s a nice feeling. Kind of like coming home to someone. When Ryan changes all his emergency contacts to Shane – to avoid traumatizing his family with news of his death, only for him to inexplicably wake up later; Shane’s idea – that feels nice, too.

They get through February like this, furtive during filming, exploding into excited chatter the second they’re alone. At least, Ryan is excited – Shane is most excited when nothing happens, when there’s nothing at a location. When he sees something he is quieter, tenser. Ryan is torn between wild glee – because  _ghosts are fucking real_ , and his friend can see them, and everything is amazing and insane – and worry. Shane is usually so unflappable that seeing him looking weary and on edge on a regular basis is unnerving. 

Sometimes, feeling selfish and guilty, Ryan lets himself wonder what the future of Unsolved looks like now. For Supernatural at least, the days seem to be numbered. How long would Shane want to continue exploring haunted places, knowing full well that he could see something, and have to pretend he doesn’t? Ryan doesn’t know how he’s able to fake it so well. He’s struggling himself, and he can’t even see anything.

“You’re a shitty actor,” Shane tells him helpfully, when Ryan brings this up. “You’re lucky you’re pretty and kind of funny. I have no idea how you got hired.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I – oh, shut up.” Shane goes back to his work, a slight flush creeping up his neck. Ryan tries to ignore the weird prickle along his skin in favour of basking in a rare victory.

 

*

 

Filming for the current season of Supernatural wraps in March and Shane is palpably relieved. “No more ghosts,” he says, grinning as he stirs his coffee. They’re taking a walk on their lunch breaks. They’re supposedly strategizing about the direction of the show but they’re mostly shooting the shit. “No more pretending I’m not seeing anything when there’s some creepy person hovering right next to you.”

“No more wondering if you’re gonna let me get attacked by a ghost,” Ryan nods.

“I wouldn’t warn you. I’d keep our secret so we can air the episode – we promised the fans, remember?”

“Deal. But if a ghost murders me and you don’t help, you need to admit ghosts are real at my funeral.” Ryan pauses. “If – if a ghost even  _could_  murder me.”

Shane sighs theatrically. “ _Fine_. But only because you’d probably be there, haunting me and harassing me until I do.”

The conversation ends there. Ryan wants to say  _if I can even die; if I could even become a ghost_  but he doesn’t.

“Do you still want to do Supernatural?” Ryan blurts out. It’s been on his mind a lot, lately, among other things. “It’s probably really weird and annoying for you now. You have to fake it.”

“You jealous?” 

“ _Of course_ , you asshole. But I could get another co-host for the Supernatural seasons if you wanted – if it’s too much.”

Shane shrugs. “I think I’d rather keep an eye on you. Now I know ghosts are real and all.”

“Mm, I got  _chills_. Say that again.”

Shane leans down into Ryan’s space, unnecessarily close, and whispers almost directly against his skin: “ _I’d rather keep an eye on you_.”

“Not  _that_  you fuckin’ – you piece of shit, Shane.”

Shane sips his coffee, nonchalant. “Oh, you wanted me to say the other thing? Something about ghosts?”

“Oh fuck you.”

They walk for a while in silence, occasionally elbowing each other, on the edge of breaking into laughter. The kind of silences they share are always comfortable, and Ryan is grateful for them whenever they happen. They make him feel like they’re closer, somehow, even closer than when they’re talking and joking and whacking each other in the shoulder, jostling each other.

“I’m sure you can die,” Shane says suddenly, breaking the silence. “You’re not ageless. I saw a grey hair just yesterday.”

Ryan’s hand flies up to his head. “ _What_?”

Shane smirks. “Yep. Age is dragging you down with the rest of us, buddy, don’t you worry. You’re getting new wrinkles every day.”

For a bizarre moment, Ryan could kiss him. Instead, he plucks Shane’s coffee out of his hand and takes a sip. Shane barely even protests.

“Just in case you were – thinking about it, still. I don’t want you worrying yourself to death. Over whether or not you can die.” Shane groans, exaggerated. “God. I hate that this is now what life is, I hate that that’s a sentence I just said.”

“Sucks to suck, ya skeptic.”

Shane takes his coffee back, his hand lingering on Ryan’s for a second. “I’m serious. I’ll tell you every time I notice a new liver spot. You’ll never forget the relentless march of time while I’m around.” 

Ryan doesn’t know what to say, so he loops an arm around Shane, gives him a quick side-hug that he hopes isn’t awkward or out of character. He hopes the  _thank you_  is obvious.  _Thank you for being in this with me, thank you for keeping me grounded, thank you thank you thank you._

When he sneaks a glance at Shane, half expecting to be met with mockery, Shane is smiling into his cup.

 

*

 

“You should try talking to them.” It’s a rainy day in May. They’re in the office kitchen, just the two of them, watching the coffee maker at work. Ryan elbows Shane. “Maybe they’ll talk back.”

“I don’t want to talk to them.”

This is an old argument already, but it’s usually light and brief, not a real discussion of possibilities. Ryan can’t get it out of his head, though, so he risks pressing it. “You haven’t seen anything too scary, right? Maybe they’re just sad, or – or confused. Maybe you could help them.” 

“I doubt it.”

“But – but what if that’s what you’re meant to do?”

Shane lets out a long exhale. “ _Meant to do_? Like I’ve been given a divine mission?”

“I don’t know – maybe.”

“Ryan. I don’t – just because I can see ghosts now, doesn’t mean I – believe. In anything like that.”

Ryan watches Shane’s face. It’s mostly inscrutable, but there’s a crease between his eyebrows, a tension around his jaw that Ryan has come to understand. “You’re scared.”

Shane shoots him a look. “Of course I’m scared. Aren’t you?” 

Ryan blinks. It hadn’t really occurred to him. “No. Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever said that.”

“Must be nice,” Shane mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.

“Have –? Have you been, like, threatened? Has anything tried to hurt you?”

Shane doesn’t answer for a while, just pours coffee for himself and Ryan. He seems to be thinking. Ryan bites his tongue and gets creamer from the fridge.

“No,” Shane answers eventually, stirring sugar into his mug. “Nothing’s tried to hurt me. They usually don’t even acknowledge me. It’s like I don’t exist for them.”

“Then –?”

“Because – what if they do? I can see them now. There’s something to be scared  _of_.” He pauses. “And I only said that they ignore me.”

That’s just cryptic enough that Ryan rolls his eyes. “O _kay_ , what does that mean?”

“They, uh. Sometimes they show interest. In you, or the crew. Mostly you.”

This hasn’t come up much before. Ryan blinks, surprised. “What? Really?”

“Not very often, most of the time they just wander around and flicker in and out. But sometimes they follow you. The first one I told you about, she went into each room with you.” 

“Woah.” Ryan isn’t sure what to do with that.

“Yeah. So provoking them, or harassing them, isn’t really high on my priority list. I don’t want any ghostly vendettas.”

“But – they can’t hurt me. And if they ignore you, then you’re fine.”

Shane drops his spoon in the sink, turns to the door. “I don’t want to risk it.” 

Ryan can’t argue with that, as much as he wants to. He follows Shane back to their desks.

 

*

 

They start filming again in June. Shane is tense but resigned, prone to restless legs. The first episode spans a whole weekend, filming both day and night on the first day, then visiting a second nearby location the next. “We’ve gotta diversify,” Devon had said. “Keep everyone engaged. We don’t usually do day shoots, it’s good to change it up.” Ryan agreed, hoped Shane would be okay with it. On the short flight to the location, he hooks his foot around Shane’s. He half-expects Shane to shake him off, but he doesn’t, just stills his knee bouncing and naps against the window.

They grab breakfast at the airport and then head straight to the location. They have to trek all their gear there on foot for the last twenty minutes of the journey – it’s an old house that isn’t accessible by car, and seems more likely to be the site of an actual living, currently-operating serial killer than ghosts of any kind. They film the opening segments in the mid-morning light, wandering around the perimeter of the building. Ryan tells the origin story while they sit on the front steps. There is a breeze playing with the edges of Shane’s hair. the sunlight is glinting off his eyelashes, bizarrely, and Ryan keeps flubbing his lines for some reason. He can’t focus, he can’t stop glancing around like he’ll see an apparition if he just looks often enough. 

“Ryan, get it together,” TJ complains after they reshoot the story outro for the eleventh time. “You look spacey as hell. Do you need a moment?”

“No, no, I’m good. Maybe we can just do this part in post? I’m not feeling too good.” It’s the truth. He’s kind of light-headed, in that nonspecific way that could mean anything. He suspects it’s sleep deprivation mixed with the general filming neurosis. He thinks maybe he just needs food.

“Yeah, okay.” TJ motion for the crew to wrap up. “Let’s head out, we’ll come back when it’s dark.”

They pack up and begin the walk back to the cars, parked on the shoulder of a back road. Ryan trails behind the group, kneading at his temples. He’s feeling a little better just from moving.

“You’d better hope there’s a  _legion_  of ghosts tonight,” TJ calls back to him cheerfully. “Things are looking bleak for the Boogaras already!” He elbows Shane in the side, waiting for Shane to chime in. 

Shane just shrugs. “You never know.”

TJ stares at him. “Are you  _folding_  Madej? Don’t let him wear you down, man.”

“Maybe the crushing weight of all the evidence we’ve amassed has – has finally broken me.”

TJ just shakes his head. “Wow. This is a sad day for reason and logic.”

“Or maybe I’m just jetlagged.” Shane rolls his shoulders.

“The flight was less than two hours.”

Shane claps TJ on the shoulder, like that’s an answer, and falls back to walk beside Ryan. Ryan tries not to be so weirdly pleased about it.

“Wanna go get food when we’ve dumped our stuff?” Shane asks, bumping elbows with Ryan. “I’m hungry.”

“Sure,” Ryan says. They’re walking very close together. “I could eat.”

 

*

 

They get diner food, just the two of them. Ryan often feels the need for space from the others so they can talk plainly. They spend a lot of time together already, and now Ryan wonders if it’s verging on  _too much_. People who used to joke about them living in each other’s pockets have started talking about them like a single entity. It doesn’t bother Ryan. He wonders if it bothers Shane.

“Anything crazy at this place yet?” Ryan asks after their food as arrived. Shane got a basic breakfast and coffee, and Ryan only feels a little silly as he drizzles maple syrup over his stack of pancakes.

“Nope,” Shane says. “Not a single ghostie. It was totally dead.” He winks. “Pun intended.”

Ryan flips him off. “I wish you could tell me when you saw stuff more often. Fucking cameras.”

“If I even  _hinted_ that I could see something, you’d have a heart attack, and the show would be over. Wait until Ruining History has a few more seasons.”

“I’m glad you have  _some_  reason to keep me alive.”

They joke about Ryan’s mortality a lot now. It’s one of the only things that keeps Ryan from disappearing into a panic spiral. He’s grateful that he never had to bring it up, that Shane just started doing it. Small constant reassurances:  _It’s okay, Ryan, I’m sure you can die. I’m sure you won’t be trapped here alone forever_  

Shane is humming as he stacks the milks and creams into a tower. He’s developed a number of odd habits since the storm, tics he never had before. He’s always arranging things. He does it absent-mindedly, his series of tiny rituals, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Ryan wonders if there’s anything about him that has changed. If people can tell that he is different now.

“Thanks for not being weird about it,” Shane says. He isn’t looking at Ryan. “For not, like – being resentful or anything.”

“What?” Ryan asks through a mouthful of whipped cream. “Resentful of your power?”

“Oh my god, you’ve gotta stop calling it that.”

“ _Power_ ,” Ryan repeats, just to be a dick. “Why would I be resentful? It’s better that you have it than me. If I had it you’d just keep not believing me.” 

Shane sits back in the booth, looks at Ryan through a gap in the tower he built. “So it’s more important to you that I’m proven wrong, than you see proof yourself.” 

“Yes,” Ryan says, spearing a blueberry with his fork. “Obviously. I don’t need proof, I already knew they were real. I’ve known since the Queen Mary.”

“Jesus.” Shane shakes his head.

“I’m just disappointed you can’t publicly admit you were wrong. That’s the real bummer.” Ryan holds out a hand. “Milk, please.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Take your pick.”

Just to spite him, Ryan chooses one on the bottom row. The tower topples, scattering everywhere. Shane just laughs.

“So you’re jealous, but not resentful. I don’t get you.”

“I contain multitudes,” Ryan tells him, spraying pancake crumbs. “I’m an emotional ocean.”

“An –?”

“ _Emocean_.”

“You’re such a  _loser_ ,” Shane says. His expression is openly fond for a moment before he shakes his head and goes back to his hash browns. “Ol’ Ryan ‘Emocean’ Bergara, he contains multitudes. That gonna be your superhero catchphrase?”

Ryan is warm all over. It’s probably the coffee. “So you’re admitting we’re superheroes?”

“I’m admitting no such thing.  _You_  think that  _you’re_  a superhero, so reason dictates you’ll pick a catchphrase for yourself. I assume the costume is trickier since you can’t sew for shit.”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I can!”

“You threw out a shirt last week because two of the buttons fell off.”

“Why do you know that?” Ryan grumbles. He reaches over and helps himself to Shane’s potatoes – he got potatoes  _and_  hash browns, which Ryan thinks is excessive. “I didn’t even remember that.”

“We spend a lot of time together.” Shane just says it like a fact, no inflection of any kind.

“Too much?” Ryan asks. It slips out before he can stop it. “I mean,” he amends, coughing, “like, I don’t wanna crowd you. We already work together all day. I know I keep showing up at your place, and – whatever.”

Shane looks at him like he’s an idiot, which is one of the most comforting things he could have done. “Ryan. If you were pissing me off I would  _definitely_  tell you.”

“Okay.” Ryan goes back to his pancakes, satisfied. He kicks at Shane’s boots under the table and grins when Shane kicks back.

 

*

 

They spend a few hours at the motel before they head back to the old house. Shane unpacks their bags and they argue about talking to ghosts. It seems like a safe thing to discuss a little now, since the location was so empty. They don’t have to worry about it for another week and a half when they are anywhere potentially haunted again. Shane is still insistent and Ryan ends up letting it go again.

Shane is calm on location that evening. He usually quietens as the crew sets up and clips their Go-Pros on, as they’re testing camera batteries and flashlights. By the time they’re ready to start rolling he is usually a statue of his usual self. Nobody else seems to notice, somehow, but Ryan does. Today Shane is cracking jokes with Devon and Mark, humming as he flicks his flashlight on and off. It’s almost like it was pre-storm.

“You’re in a good mood,” Ryan says, sidling up to him.

“Didn’t see anything earlier. It’s almost like the old days.” Shane grins. “God, do I miss the old days. Everything was so easy.”

“Welcome to my world,” Ryan says. He can’t decide if he’s disappointed that Shane hasn’t seen anything, or relieved that Shane can relax.

“You feeling any better?” Shane asks, still fiddling with the flashlight.

Ryan frowns, touching his temple. “Yeah. Still feeling a bit weird, you know? Hope I don’t get a migraine later.”

“I’ll give you a head massage, don’t you worry.” Shane winks at him.

“Alright, guys, let’s do this,” TJ calls, saving Ryan from constructing any kind of response. “Let’s all be back at the motel eating pizza by midnight, okay?”

Things are like the old days, for a while. They circle the house, Ryan recaps some of the legend, and then they finally venture inside. It’s like so many of their previous locations – dark and musty and stale in an unsettling way. Ryan jumps at a shadow, Shane locates the source – an abandoned toy bear – and they have a good laugh about it. It’s strange to notice the differences in Shane’s behaviour now that he knows the place is clear. Ryan makes a mental note to try and add more morning-night split shoots to their schedules for his peace of mind.

Nothing much happens for the first hour. They walk around upstairs, try to provoke spirits to hit Shane in the face, inspect some suspicious looking markings on the inside of a closet door. Shane is jokey and flippant and Ryan begins to feel the tension that is always coiled tightly in his throat during filming disappear. It really is just an old house – an old, crumbling house, but empty. Peaceful, even. After completing their upstairs circuit they take a break to set up cameras and motion sensors in the back bedroom. Someone brought a pack of Oreos and people sit down on the floor, munching and chatting, the illusion truly shattered. Ryan takes a stack of cookies and joins Shane where he’s leaning on the doorjamb, arms folded under his Go-Pro harness.

“We’re really gonna have to focus on the story with this one,” Ryan laments to Shane, mouth full of Oreo. “It doesn’t even feel creepy. Maybe we’ve been doing this for too long. 

Shane hums. “Maybe. 

Ryan hands Shane a cookie. “Buck up, buddy. We’ll be done soon.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” Ryan pauses. “A bit weird. Maybe I’m dehydrated.”

“Maybe,” Shane says again. 

Ryan pokes Shane in the arm. “You okay, dude? You were fine a second ago but you’re being weird.”

“Yeah.” Shane turns back to look at Ryan for the first time during the exchange. Ryan can see the whites of his eyes. “M’fine.”

Ryan feels the realization hit him physically, pouring down his whole body, fizzing adrenaline. “You – you saw something.”

Shane shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge something from his ear. Less of an answer, more of a reaction. “No. Let’s finish up.”

“Shane, you  _saw_  something.”

“Not here.” There’s a flash of panic on Shane’s face for a second. “It’s okay. Let’s finish up. It’s okay.” 

The tension is back, choking Ryan, a heavy weight at his Adam’s apple. “Sh-should we get the fuck out of here?”

“With what excuse?” Shane shakes his head. “No, let’s – let’s just stick it out. It’s okay, we’re not in danger, I – I don’t think he wants to hurt anyone.”

“Jesus,” Ryan says. His blood is pounding in his head. He’s definitely going to have a migraine later – a ghost-induced migraine. “ _Jesus_.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane mutters. He’s not looking at Ryan. “We’ll be gone soon.”

“Are you –?”

“Alright, guys, Ryan’s feeling delicate again,” Shane announces loudly to the room at large. “Let’s get this done before he passes out.”

“Really, man?” TJ sounds concerned. “You gonna be okay?”

Ryan clears his throat. It takes two attempts before he can speak properly. “Yeah. It’s nothing.”

“Well, can you power through? We just want a session with the motion sensors and maybe the spirit box.”

“Sure,” Ryan croaks. His head feels light, strange.

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Shane hisses beside him. Ryan leans against the wall.

They film for twenty minutes and everything seems fine. Ryan holds it together, fighting against the increasingly swimmy feeling behind his eyes. The sensors are useless, unsurprisingly. TJ hands Ryan the spirit box and starts setting up for the next shot as the crew packs up the sensors. Ryan sits down heavily on the floor, bracing his head in his hand.

Shane is hovering beside him protectively, his whole body tense. He’s mumbling to himself, just quiet enough that Ryan can’t make out the words.

“Okay, guys, let’s do it.” TJ motions for them to get into position. “Almost done.”

Ryan stares at the box in his hands. The spirit box has never worked, he knows now – none of the ghosts Shane sees have paid it any attention, let alone used it to communicate. Sometimes it even scares them off. Ryan tries to blink the blur from his eyes, nods to TJ. “Alright,” he says, struggling upright. “Let’s give this a try.”

As soon as the spirit box starts to wail, Ryan’s head gets worse. It’s not pain, exactly, but a weird pressure sensation, like he’s rapidly changing altitude. He squints against the feeling, trying to focus on the task. “Is anyone here?” he asks dutifully. “Is there anyone here with us?”

The box screams blank noise, nothing discernible. Shane looks like he’s trying to hold himself back from Ryan. Ryan wonders what he’s seeing.

“Last chance – if anyone’s here right now, this is your chance to talk to us.”

The box’s noise doesn’t change, but Ryan’s head is suddenly so heavy that he can’t keep it up anymore. He grunts, surprised, and sinks to his knees. He drops the spirit box, grabs his head with both hands. 

“That’s enough,” Shane snaps. He grabs the screeching box, turns it off and tosses it to Devon. He crouches down beside Ryan. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Jesus, Ryan, are you okay?” Devon asks. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, just need to sleep it off. Just a migraine.” Ryan pushes his knuckles against his eyelids. “It’s fine, I get them sometimes.”

Shane has one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, the other on his crown, like he meant to check Ryan’s temperature but missed his forehead. “Leave him the hell alone,” he’s hissing, looking somewhere over Ryan’s shoulder. “We’re going, okay? Stop.” 

“Shane, m’fine, it’s okay.” Ryan shrugs out from under Shane’s hands, gives his head a shake. He manages to get to his feet. The whole crew is watching them uncertainly. “Guys, it’s okay, honestly. I get migraines, it’s fine.” 

“Okay,” Devon says. “Why don’t you guys go back to the motel? We’ll pack up.”

“ _No_ ,” Ryan and Shane say in unison, doing nothing to ease the concern and uncertainty of the room. “No, we’ll wait.”

While the crew packs up, Shane crowds Ryan against the wall just outside the room, bracketing Ryan’s body with his arms. He glances around every few seconds. Ryan’s warm and tingly and hazy, and he lets himself brace against Shane’s shoulder with one hand. Everything feels weird, but this doesn’t, leaning on Shane close enough to study the stubble on his jaw and feel his breath on his face. Ryan isn’t scared, either – keyed up, maybe, worried for Shane, but not scared. There’s  _something_  roiling nervously in the pit of his stomach but it’s not fear. If Ryan was able to concentrate, maybe he could unravel it, pinpoint it. If only he could focus –

But then TJ is calling that they’re done, that they can leave, and Ryan loses the thread.

 

*

 

Shane fills Ryan in on the car ride back to the motel. It’s just the two of them, Shane white-knuckling the steering wheel as he tails TJ. He had barked something about Ryan needing quiet and everyone else taking the other car – nobody had argued. Ryan was grateful, huddled in the passenger seat wrapped in Shane’s denim jacket. He feels achy and woozy. The second they’re alone Shane starts talking, doesn’t seem able to stop – about the ghost of a man at the house, how he looked young but was dressed from an era not their own. How he had shadowed Ryan diligently on the bottom floor. How he had tapped Ryan on the head, repeatedly. How he laughed silently when Ryan sank to the ground. 

“Evil, it was evil,” Shane is saying, eyes wild.

“He doesn’t sound evil. He sounds harmless.” 

“It  _touched_  you! You got sick!”

“I got dizzy. I’ve felt worse after a night out.”

When they pull into the motel lot Shane insists on opening Ryan’s door, carries all of their equipment himself. Ryan is already feeling better and tells Shane as much, but Shane waves him off. Shane lets them into their room and Ryan drops down onto his bed immediately, the cool relief of his pillow making him groan appreciatively. “God, no bed has ever felt as good as this bed.” He kicks his shoes off and smooths his hands over the scratchy blanket.

Shane has left their equipment in a pile on the floor and is pacing around, raking a hand through his hair. He looks as unhinged as Ryan has ever seen him, worse even than the night he told Ryan about his power 

“Shane. It’s okay, calm down.”

“I knew this was going to happen, I knew it, I knew they wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Come here.” Ryan shuffles over and pats the bed beside him. Shane joins him without protest, throws himself down with enough force that Ryan bounces slightly.

“This is why I don’t want to talk to them,” Shane says, staring up at the ceiling. “This is  _exactly_  what I was worried about. It was fucking with you, it wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“He wasn’t hurting me,” Ryan reasons. “He was just – interactive. Maybe he was curious.”

“It could have, it could have hurt you – I would’ve – if it had –”

“What, kill him again?” Ryan reaches over, touches Shane’s elbow. “Shane. I’m fine. I’m immortal.”

“I hate that I can’t  _do anything_. I can’t protect you.” Shane’s voice is weird and strained. “All I can do is see them.”

Ryan moves from Shane’s elbow to his wrist, takes Shane’s hand in his. He does it slowly to give Shane chance to pull away, but Shane doesn’t. He never does – Ryan isn’t sure why he still assumes he will, he never has, not once in any of these strangely intimate moments. Shane threads their fingers together and doesn’t look at Ryan, just squeezes his hand and breathes, a little steadier now.

Ryan’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. “Are they always interested in me?”

“Usually.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was so often?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out.” Shane turns to look at him, quirks a tense smile. “Or be  _flattered_. I honestly don’t know which would be worse.”

“You’re just jealous I’m a ghost magnet.”

“Mm. That’s what it is.” Shane strokes Ryan’s thumb, his fingers, each digit one by one. Ryan shivers and forgets to hide it.

“It makes sense,” Ryan says, watching Shane’s hands. “I’m – I mean, I’ve died, right? And they’re dead. They can probably tell.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“They probably think I’m one of them. Or something.”

Shane turns Ryan’s hand over, examines his palm. He runs a fingertip down the line that curves around the root of Ryan’s thumb. “If that’s true – what if they want to  _make_  you one of them?”

“They can’t. I’m immortal, they can’t kill me.”

“Maybe.” It’s fast becoming one of Shane’s most used words. “But we don’t  _know_  that. What if they have special ghostly powers? What if your thing only works against accidents?”

“If that ghost back there wanted to kill me and was able to, then he would have, but I’m still here.” 

“You’re still here,” Shane repeats, quietly.

The only noise is their breathing, the occasional rush of a car passing out on the main road. Shane is still stroking Ryan’s hand.

Ryan breaks the silence reluctantly. “I want to go back there. See what he wants.”

Shane makes a strangled sound. “Ryan, no.”

“I won’t. But I want to.” He turns to look at Shane. “We can’t keep leaving them.”

Shane holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away, back at their hands, Ryan’s slack and relaxed in Shane’s. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem surprised, either.

“They can interact with us, like – we could actually connect with them. We could actually communicate.”

“It didn’t really respond when I spoke to it.”

“Maybe they would listen to me.”

“I – maybe.” Shane closes his eyes. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

“Sure.” Ryan copies Shane, closes his eyes. It’s nice lying next to someone, holding hands, listening to breathing that’s not his own. “Wanna sleep?”

“Yeah, I’ll move,” Shane murmurs, not moving.

“Don’t bother.” Ryan extricates his hand to wriggle out of his jeans and get under the covers. Shane copies him wordlessly. The overhead light is still on, but Ryan doesn’t want to move any more, doesn’t want to disturb the delicate balance of this moment – them sharing a bed, again, for no discernible reason.

The light doesn’t matter, as it turns out; they both fall asleep within minutes.

 

*

 

Being back in LA after a shoot is always disorienting, but this time it’s truly unsettling. Ryan keeps touching the crown of his head. He tries to make sure Shane doesn’t notice. He frowns whenever he does, concern writ large on his face. Ryan dreams about the ghost he couldn’t see, the ghost’s face changing each night. He starts compiling a folder on exorcism techniques, cleansing rituals, ruling out anything that would be impossible to actually try. He keeps the folder at home and doesn’t show Shane. He starts working out more. He looks up self-defense classes online. He’s not even sure what he’s preparing  _for_ , but it feels good to be proactive. And if he looks up protective sigils online and slips one into Shane’s phone case, well. It just makes him feel better.

At work, things continue as normal. They take their lunch breaks at the same time every day now, eating together or with groups of their friends, or going on excursions when one of them has a particular craving. Today, it’s Shane who spins his chair around to face Ryan, dramatically removes his headphones, and announces, “I want a  _smoothie_.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, blinking rapidly to try and clear the film that’s formed over his eyes from staring at his screen all morning. “Is this a Postmates situation? My legs are killing me.”

“No, this requires old-fashioned walking. You up to the task, Bergara?”

“Fine,” Ryan says, because he could go for a smoothie, and he wants to hang out with Shane. “But if I collapse you have to carry me back.”

By the time they get to the smoothie place Ryan’s legs aren’t feeling any less sore, and he’s dangerously close to being whiny. He stands in line with Shane, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying not to look too miserable.

Nothing gets past Shane. “What’s wrong with you? You’re being weird.”

“I had a good workout yesterday,” Ryan says, stretching his shoulders exaggeratedly for some reason. It’s not even his shoulders that hurt.  “I’m in pain. Like, good pain, but still.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it.” Shane waves a hand at Ryan, like that indicates something. “Go rest your bones. I’ll order – your usual, I presume?”

“You got it.” Ryan isn’t going to argue if Shane’s offering. He finds them a spot for two and slouches over on the table, idly scrolling through his Instagram feed. Shane sticks out everywhere they go but he’s especially obvious right now, surrounded by extra short people in the line to order. Ryan finds himself scrolling without looking at his screen and just watching Shane. He’s got his back to Ryan. He never stands fully upright, always curving in at the shoulders. As if sensing Ryan’s eyes on him, he turns around, catches Ryan staring. He flips him off with a completely straight face. Ryan collapses into laughter at the confused look from the woman behind Shane.

Shane steps up to order, so Ryan turns to scrolling through his notes app. He has lists of possible locations, ideas for episodes, things he wants to pitch to their bosses. He has removed several locations lately – places that seem unwise to mess with now that ghosts are irrefutably real. When he gets bored of his notes he switches to his camera roll, finds the album marked as ‘for insta?’ There are photos of Micki and Dori, lots of shots of Ryan at theme parks or stuffing his face with food. There are also lots of pictures of Shane. Shane seated across from Ryan, holding a wine glass and pulling a face. Shane backlit by the sun on a shoot location, collar popped on his denim jacket. Shane sitting on a beach with a bottle of sunscreen poised over his bony knees. Shane sprawled out on a hotel bed. Shane smiling – the kind of warm, open smile that rarely happens in front of a camera. Ryan puts his phone down, feels heat rising in his cheeks for some reason.

It’s then that Shane rushes up to him, their smoothies in hand. His expression is drawn. “Fuck,” he says, “fuck, Ryan, we’ve gotta go.”

“Why?” Ryan asks, frowning. “We just got here. We’ve got time.”

“I saw something.”

Ryan sits up straight. “Seriously? Here? It’s – it’s a fucking smoothie bar.”

“He looks like – like he died yesterday. He’s wearing goddamn Jordans.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, and he can hear his voice rising. “Okay, should we –? Can we talk to him?”

“Absolutely not. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

Ryan doesn’t argue when Shane is like this. He wants to, but whenever he tries to imagine what it would feel like, he knows he would only be making it worse. They power-walk all the way back to the office in silence, Shane still gripping both their smoothies. It’s not until they’re in the elevator on their way to their desks that he lets out a long, shuddering breath and hands Ryan his coconut crush.

“You okay?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah.” Shane passes a hand over his face, dripping condensation everywhere. “It – it just never gets any less weird. Especially the new ones.”

“What was he doing?”

“Looking at the menu. Like he was going to order.” They reach their floor and Ryan trails after Shane, expecting to go back to their desks, but Shane pauses in the hallway. There’s nobody else around. “He looked young. He kind of reminded me of you, if you were a normal human height and less. Built.”

“Nice complisult.” Ryan hesitates. “Shane. It’s okay. He was probably just confused, maybe he didn’t know he was dead.”

“You say that like – like that makes it  _better_.” Shane stares into the middle-distance. “That’s literally one of the worst parts. It’s so fucking upsetting.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says, because he doesn’t know what would make Shane feel better.

“I  _know_  you think we should do something,” Shane says, picking up the thread of an argument they’re not even having. “Try and help them, whatever, but I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not a ghost expert. I just see them, and then throw up after. I can’t do anything, I can’t, I just –”

“You – what?”

Ryan has never seen Shane look ashamed before. “Nothing.”

“You –” Ryan reaches out without thinking about it, wraps a hand around Shane’s arm. “Shane. You never mentioned that.”

“It’s only sometimes. Just when it’s really bad. Kids, or really confused ones, or when I’m not expecting it.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s – it’s not  _fun_ , Ryan. Seeing them is the worst feeling.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Ryan looks around the hallway like a ghost wearing good sneakers will appear any moment. “Do you see them a lot? More than you tell me?”

“Couple times a week. I can usually ignore them if they’re far away, or if I’m moving. There aren’t any at work thank god.” Shane catches sight of Ryan’s face and sighs. “I’m not going to come crying to you with every single sighting, Ry. I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to  _handle it_. I want to help. 

“And I – appreciate that. Really.”

“You’ve gotta stop shielding me from stuff, like that’ll help me. I’m  _immortal_  I can take it.”

“ _You’ve_  gotta stop saying you’re immortal every few seconds, like that means you’re invincible.”

“I mean, it  _does_.”

Shane opens his mouth like he wants to argue some more, but doesn’t. “Whatever,” he says instead, not angry, just resigned. “Let’s just go back in.”

Ryan follows Shane back to their desks. They’ll leave early, together, and probably hang out at Shane’s place, numb the weirdness with Netflix and the IPAs that Shane likes. By the time they fall asleep Shane will be back to normal. For now, Ryan settles a hand on the back of Shane’s neck when he sits down, under the guise to examining whatever Shane’s working on. Shane leans into his touch imperceptibly as he clicks around.

 

*

 

Their next location throws them a curveball within the first few minutes of their tour.

It’s another old mansion, crumbling and decrepit. They have the run of the east wing and the grounds, and are instructed to stay away from the areas marked with construction tape. It’s their first overnight shoot in a season and a half; Ryan hadn’t known how to get out of it when their boss informed them that there was room in the budget. So here they are.

Their tour guide is chatty and very knowledgeable, and normally Ryan would be hanging on her every word. But Shane has been on edge since they got out of the car, and isn’t getting any calmer. They are nearly done the tour when they pause at the mouth of a long hallway. Ryan positions himself so that he can squeeze Shane’s hand for a second.

“The nursery is one of the most active places,” their tour guide chirps. “Lots of guests report hearing children’s laughter, seeing toys move, that kind of thing. Follow me!”

“ _Nursery_ ,” Shane says, low and pained, just for Ryan. “You didn’t say there would be a nursery.”

“I’m really sorry man. I didn’t know it had one.”

“Here we are!” Their tour guide ushers them into a large rectangular room. It’s far larger than Ryan had expected, and it’s not as creepy as the hallway. It’s dark, with peeling walls and dusty floors, but it’s quiet in a way that seems almost peaceful.

“Well, I’ll leave you all to it. I’m just at the groundskeeper’s cabin until 10pm if you need me. Check in with me tomorrow morning before you leave!”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, trying to be professional, but his attention is on Shane. “We’ll be out of here pretty early.”

The crew discuss some further details with the tour guide while Ryan examines the room. It seems completely underwhelming. He turns to Shane. 

“All good?” he asks.

“Not here.” Shane’s teeth are gritted, his voice almost a whisper. “It’s – it’s fine. I’ll tell you after.”

That could mean anything, so Ryan tries not to imagine what Shane could be seeing, and focuses on following TJ’s direction as he sets up for some wide shots of the room. “Okay, guys, do your thing,” TJ says. “We’re rolling.”

“It’s not as creepy as I thought,” Ryan says for the cameras, wandering around the room. “For a haunted nursery.”

“It didn’t even show up in your notes, so how haunted can it be?” Shane asks. It sounds like a jab, and Ryan tries not to take it personally. 

There’s a cot in the corner that they investigate. There’s a small pile of toys on the floor beside it – wooden blocks, animals, a moth-eaten stuffed rabbit. There’s a metal toy train sitting a little apart from the rest, and Ryan picks it up impulsively. He tries not to notice that Shane’s breath hitches.

“I wonder who lived here,” Ryan says. “Whose toys these are.”

Shane coughs, twisted into the crook of his arm. It sounds suspiciously fake, like he’s trying to cover something up. It’s too obvious for Ryan not to address it.

“Shane?” Ryan frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Shane clears his throat, rubs at his eyes. “Just, uh. Dust allergy I think.”

“Wow, thanks for developing one now. We’re in a great place for that.”

“It’s fine. Let’s keep going.”

Ryan turns the toy train over in his hands. It looks well-worn. “Okay.” He sets it down on the floor, steps over it. “Let’s do that creepy hallway.”

Shane looks a little more normal when they leave the nursery, but Ryan catches him wiping his eyes on his wrist, just off-camera. Curiosity gnaws at him for the rest of the shoot. They cover each of the rooms they are allowed in, time crawling by so slowly that Ryan can feel himself descending into tetchiness as the shoot draws to a close. He wants to set up their sleeping bags, debrief with Shane, do some more research.

Finally they wrap up. TJ and the crew are jovial, chatting about dinner plans, a good sushi place that Matt found online. Ryan tries to keep his impatience under wraps. He’s doing a better job than Shane, who is pacing around like a caged animal, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. They’re in the room that they have decided to sleep in, a large bedroom a few floors up.

“Good luck, fellas,” TJ calls as the crew leaves. “Don’t let the ghosts bite!” 

“See you guys at 9am on the dot,” Ryan calls after them. He has to make an effort now to remember to show signs of fear. Sooner or later he’s going to forget; he tries not to dwell on that.

The second the crew’s footsteps recede, Ryan turns to Shane. “What was it?”

“What was what?” Shane has unfurled one of their sleeping bags, sits cross-legged on it.

“Oh, come on. Don’t do this to me, I’m dying here.” Ryan joins Shane on the ground. “What did you see?”

“Um.” Shane smiles slightly. “It was a kid.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like – like a little boy. He liked you. He. He hugged your leg.”

Ryan thinks about the toy train, Shane’s misty eyes. He swallows. “I didn’t feel it.”

“He was probably about three. He had curly hair.” Shane scrubs at his eyes. “ _God_ , I can’t handle it when it’s kids. But he seemed happy, he seemed okay. He liked you.”

Ryan isn’t sure what to say. He touches Shane’s arm awkwardly.

“I wish we hadn’t had cameras on us. I wanted to try talking to him.” Shane shakes his head as Ryan opens his mouth. “No – I’m not saying let’s go back, or anything. He just seemed like a sweet kid, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, jealous and surprised and pleased, a confusing mixture. “I’m sure he was.”

“I wish all the places we went were more like that. It was nice. He seemed at peace, just playing with his toys. It felt like there were more that I couldn’t see, I don’t think he was lonely.” Shane’s rambling, seemingly unable to stop. “Like he had a weird energy, you know, like it wasn’t sad or fuckin’ shitty the way it usually is, or – or even just confused is bad. But he wasn’t, he was fine. Like a normal kid.”

“He probably was a normal kid.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. “Yeah, probably.”

Shane is quiet while they finish setting up for the night. They film some insta stories and eat the club sandwiches they packed for dinner. TJ sends them a photo of the crew crowded around a table loaded with sushi and Ryan and Shane send back a photo of them both flipping him off. It’s still too early to sleep, so they watch a couple episodes of The Office that Ryan had downloaded on his phone. They have to lie very close to watch on the small screen; neither of them mentions it.

When it’s finally dark, they climb into their sleeping bags and settle in. Ryan still doesn’t like sleeping in creepy places, but the familiar panic is gone, replaced instead with increasingly common impatience.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispers to Shane.

Shane shifts slightly, his sleeping bag rustling. “What are  _you_  thinking about?”

“Asked you first.”

“Asked you second.”

“I’m thinking about  _murdering_  you, now.”

Shane huffs a laugh. “Just thinking about that kid ghost.”

Ryan hesitates for a second. “It’s just us. We could go back and visit him.”

Shane is quiet for so long that Ryan thinks he might have fallen asleep. Finally he rolls over so that he’s facing Ryan. Ryan can just make out the shine of his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ryan tamps down the impulse to scramble up, to sprint downstairs. “If you want.”

Shane draws a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah. No cameras, though.” He makes it sound like a question.

“Of course not,” Ryan says automatically, because the thought of filming while Shane is like this, fucked up over ghost children, feels deeply wrong. “Just us.”

Shane hauls himself out of his sleeping bag, starts hunting around for his boots. They get dressed without talking, leave all of their equipment where it is. Shane takes a flashlight and opens the door. He pauses on the threshold and Ryan thinks he might change his mind. He steps forward and squeezes Shane’s hand.

“Thanks,” Shane says, his voice hoarse. He doesn’t let go. “I’m fucking terrified. How did you do it? Before you were immortal?”

“Knew you had my back,” Ryan says, the truth springing from him automatically. “And I wanted to prove you wrong.”

“All about me, huh?” 

Ryan snorts, hip-checks Shane through the doorway. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all big-headed about it. You’ll fall over.”

They trail downstairs, still holding hands. Shane is visibly nervous when they reach the nursery door. Ryan turns the handle, pushes it open. It’s dark inside, of course. Ryan pulls his own flashlight from his back pocket, flicks it on.

“You okay to go in?” he asks.

Shane nods, his lips a thin line. They cross the threshold, lights aloft, showing trails of dust and little else. Again, Ryan is struck by the atmosphere, the weird sense of peace. He sets his flashlight upright on the ground and turns to Shane.

“Now what?”

“Maybe – maybe you should sit down.”

Ryan lets go of Shane’s hand and picks a spot near to the pile of toys. He sits cross-legged, feeling like he’s back in kindergarten, waiting for the teacher to tell him what to do. On a whim he grabs the metal train from before, sets it in front of him. A peace offering.

Shane stands near the door. He looks around –  _for the ghost_ , Ryan thinks, and a thrill goes through him.  _We’re about to talk to a ghost_.

“He’s here.” Shane’s voice is low, like there’s a spooked animal present. “Man, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Talk me through it. I can’t – you’re my eyes, here.”

Shane clears his throat, shaky, shoots Ryan a look. Whatever he sees seems to help because he relaxes a little. “Okay. Okay, sorry, this is just so weird.” 

“Hey, at least you can  _see_  everything.” Ryan grips his knees, tries to stay still and project calm. “Alright, dude, let’s go. Narration time. You should love this part.”

Shane huffs a laugh. “Okay, um. So he appeared in here when you sat down. Kind of – kind of like I blinked and there he was? He’s flickering in and out, it’s different than some of the others. Um.” Shane falters, self-conscious, maybe. Ryan catches his eye and nods encouragingly. “He’s standing pretty close to you, watching you.”

“What does he look like?”

“Curly hair. His clothes look dated, I’m not sure – maybe sixties? God, I don’t know. He’s smiley.” Shane squints, like he’s trying to focus. “He’s making grabby hands at the train.”

Ryan looks down at the metal train, picks it up. “What should I do with it? I – I can’t give it to him.”

“Play with it,” Shane says, and he sounds more confident now. “It’s on wheels?”

“Yeah.” Ryan scoots it around the floor for a moment, feeling distinctly ridiculous. “Which direction is he?”

“Your two o’clock.”

Ryan aims in what he hopes is the right direction and sends the train rolling across the floor. It stops, fairly abruptly, only a few feet away. Shane’s breath hitches.

“He stopped it. With his foot.” Shane’s expression is hard for Ryan to look at, too honest, too unguarded. “He’s laughing.”

“Can you hear him?”

“No – they’re always silent, like they’re behind glass or something.”

“This is  _so fucking weird_.”

Shane tuts. “Language!”

“Sorry!” Ryan can’t take his eyes off the train. “Can he hear me?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Oops. My bad. Ignore my potty mouth, okay, champ?”

“ _Champ_? Is that what you call kids?”

The train moves then, startling Ryan. It rolls back towards him. When it hits his knee he lets out a very embarrassing squeak. “ _Shane_. Did he do that?”

“Yeah. He’s – he’s really laughing.” Shane sounds like he’s cracking up, but Ryan’s eyes are still fixed on the train. “What a little goober. He’s  _belly laughing_ , Ryan.”

“You call kids  _goober_?” 

“Shut up and push the train back.”

Ryan does. He sends it racing back the way it had come, faster this time. It stops again, and this time it tips over onto its side, clattering against the ground. A high-pitched laugh sounds, for a split second.

“Was –?”

“You heard that?” Shane asks, urgent. “That laugh?”

“Well it wasn’t  _me_.”

“That was him – oh my god we heard him.”

The laugh sounds again, a single note. Ryan can feel himself starting to lose it now. The laughter is welling up in him right from his solar plexus, shaking through his ribs. Shane is leaning against the wall, laughing into his hands. Ryan hasn’t laughed quite like this since they did laughter yoga with the Test Friends. He hears the laugh again – unmistakably child-laughter. The kind of sound that’s distilled joy.

“This is crazy,” Ryan says, wiping his eyes. “This is crazy. Is this real? 

“I think so,” Shane wheezes. “Or we’re both nuts. One of those.”

The train rolls back to Ryan and the child laughter sounds again.

“God, I wish I could see him,” Ryan says, turns to Shane. “What’s he doing now?”

But Shane’s expression has changed. He makes a hushed sound, a small noise of surprise. “Oh – there’s another one.”

“Another ghost?”

Shane nods. “Older kid. She looks maybe twelve?”

“What’s she doing?” Ryan would give anything to be able to see, would trade his immortality. “Shane, c’mon. Narrate.”

“She’s picking him up. Holding him like this.” Shane affects a contrapposto stance, balancing an imaginary child on his hip. “She’s, like – nose-booping him.”

“Nose-booping?”

“She’s tickling him, he’s laughing.”

“Is she looking at us? Can she see us?”

“I don’t know. She’s ignoring us. They look really similar – same hair, same eyes. Siblings, maybe.”

“Is she taking him somewhere?”

Shane inhales sharply. “They’re – they’re gone.”

Ryan stares at Shane. “What?”

“They – I just blinked and they’re gone. He waved, he waved at you, and then he – they both disappeared.”

“ _What_? That’s it? We – we were playing. We could have talked to her.” Ryan stares down at the train. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I don’t think so, I think she was – like, collecting him, like he ran off and she came to get him. Or something.” Shane is still leaning against the wall, staring at the spot where the ghosts must have been. “He really did seem happy.”

“No wonder he’s happy. He has his sister with him.”

“What  _happened_  here, Ryan?” Shane’s voice is tired. “Why are they dead?”

“Don’t know, dude. There weren’t any records of the kids when I looked. We could ask the tour guide tomorrow.” 

“No, maybe – maybe it’s none of our business. Maybe we don’t need to know.” Shane is quiet for a moment, pensive. Eventually he comes over to where Ryan is, still sitting cross-legged, and reaches a hand out to help him up. “Come on, you look silly. And this floor is gross.”

Ryan lets himself be hauled up and right into a hug. He leans heavily into Shane’s chest, puts his weight behind it, pleased to find that Shane leans back.

“I’m really tired,” Shane murmurs into Ryan’s hair.

“Yeah, same. That was a lot.” Ryan yawns hugely. “I could sleep forever.”

“That sounds great. Let’s do that.”

“Not actually, though,” Ryan says quickly. “No dying. No leaving me to go hang out with ghost kids, okay?”

“I would never,” Shane says. He sounds exhausted behind the sincerity; Ryan wishes he could carry him back to their room. “You know I would never.”

“Yeah. Okay, good.” Ryan checks his phone. It’s not even midnight yet but he feels like it’s 4am. “Come on, big guy, let’s go.”

Shane trips on the stairs on their way back to their room and they hear the distant sound of laughter.

 

*

  

Ryan has a determination in him now that he can’t shake. For Shane’s sake he tries, on the long ride back to LA, and in the following days, but it won’t go away. It’s all he can think about.

He lasts a week. They’re at his place after work, trying not-very-hard to find something on Netflix. It bursts out of him like a sneeze: “I think we should start talking to them for real. We know what we’re doing now.”

Shane doesn’t seem at all confused, doesn’t even look away from the screen. “Ryan,” he says, rolling his eyes, “we had one ghostly encounter. I don’t think we’re experts.”

“We basically are! We know how to talk to them, we just need more practice!” 

“Practice? Like it’s a sport?”

“We could – get better at it, know what to say, be more prepared. We could do more research!”

Shane flicks through a number of horror movies. His expression is impossibly neutral. “Or we could just leave it.”

“We have to have our powers for a reason,” Ryan insists. “We have to – to do something with them. Do good with them, right?”

Shane blinks slowly, like he’s considering it. “I don’t think there’s really any reason for this, Ry.”

“I can’t believe you’re still  _like_  this. You can see ghosts. Like – fuck. How are we not on the same page here?”

“I can see ghosts, it doesn’t mean I believe that we were put on this earth to serve a higher purpose. What are you gonna do with your thing? What can I do with mine? I’m not the ghost whisperer. I’m not a  _superhero_.”

“Maybe you could be!”

“I don’t  _want_  to be.”

Ryan grits his teeth against the frustration, because Shane is allowed to not want this, to not be into it. Ryan knows that.

“Fine. But I do.”

Ryan expects Shane to argue, or scoff, or make fun of him. Instead Shane just looks at him, expression impossible to read. “Of course you do.”

“Someb– some _thing_  gave us these powers. I can’t just ignore that.”

“Of course you can’t.” Shane passes a hand over his face. “I know, Ryan. It’s – it’s who you are.”

Ryan shrugs, unsure what that means. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And – being able to ignore it is who I am.”

“Okay,” Ryan says slowly. “So we’ll do our own thing on this.”

Shane squints at him. “That’s one option.”

“What’s the other?” Ryan tries really hard to squash the tiny flicker of hope rising in his chest. Everything feels very high-stakes, for some reason. Fraught. Everything’s fraught, nowadays.

“Well.” Shane scratches his chin. He seems nervous, suddenly. “I don’t want to be a superhero. But – you’re going to need some help, for sure.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be involved?”

“I don’t want to run point on this. I don’t want to – to be planning, like,  _missions_  to go confront ghosts.” Shane pauses. “But if you’re doing it anyway, if you’re going to do it on your own, then – then I’ll help. Or at least tag along so you’re not alone, since I know you can’t handle that for very long.”

Ryan can feel a smile taking over his face, the kind of smile that makes his cheek muscles seize up. “Shane Madej, did you just use a basketball reference to tell me you want to be my superhero sidekick?”

Shane’s expression is long-suffering. “Jesus Christ. You got me. That’s the insidiousness of your influence.”

“I don’t think you could’ve said anything better. It sounded like a proposal.”

“I should have gotten down on one knee and presented you with a cape. An oversight on my part, obviously.”

“Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

“Okay, fuck you.” Shane’s smiling.

“What about – I don’t want you, like, traumatizing yourself.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna take it back now. I can see you buzzing.”

Ryan grins at Shane, excitement tingling through him. “We’re gonna do it. We’re gonna be superheroes. We’re gonna be real fuckin’ ghost hunting superheroes. And it doesn’t just have to be ghost stuff. We could like – help living people, too, y’know? I mean, I’m essentially Deadpool.”

Shane just rolls his eyes, infuriatingly. “Sure, Ryan. Are you gonna start fighting bad guys now? You’ll have to learn to throw a punch for that.”

“Maybe I will! And I can  _punch_ , fuck you.”

“You don’t know that you regenerate,” Shane says. He abruptly drops the joking tone, his expression serious. “You don’t know the full extent of it, and – and you can’t test it out, okay? What if you’ve only got a certain number of extra lives? What if you just had one?”

“I’m not going to, like – shoot myself in the head and see if I survive it, or anything.”

Ryan means it as a joke, trying to break the tension that’s inexplicably settled over them, but Shane’s serious expression doesn’t budge. “Don’t even joke about that,” he says, and his voice has dropped low. “Please.”

“I’m not going to die, Shane.”

“I don’t want to –  _see_  you like that. I don’t ever want to see you and know you’re not really there. That – it – it would fucking kill me.”

Ryan is quiet for a moment. “At least then we’d both be dead together?” It comes out as less of a joke, more of a question.

Shane stares at him for a beat, and Ryan realizes, belatedly, just how much that was in bad taste. “Sorry,” he starts to say, “that came out wrong –” But he can’t finish because Shane is suddenly doubled over with laughter, wheezing helplessly.

“Yeah, Ryan, at least we’ll be dead together,” he says when he’s mostly done, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “A pair of idiot ghosts. We can float around together and –” But then he’s gone again, laughing himself red in the face.

“You told me ghosts don’t float.” Ryan tries to keep his face straight, but it’s hard to do with Shane laughing like he is. “And – that wouldn’t be the worst way to spend the, uh. Afterlife. Or whatever.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Shane collects himself with some difficulty. “I guess that’s always a backup plan.”

“It’s a deal.” Ryan holds his hand out and they perform an exaggerated handshake.

“I don’t want to have to execute this brilliant plan, though, okay? So no dying on me.” Shane fixes Ryan with a no-nonsense expression. “I’m serious.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Best-laid plans, man. I’ll do my best.”

 

*

 

Ryan dies again in August 

_What are the chances_ , he thinks as he hangs upside down in his car, his seat belt slicing into his shoulder. The air bag had helped a little, but nothing could cushion Ryan’s brain from the inside of his own skull. He feels the damage as soon as it happens, bone and tissue colliding as his car rolls over. He can hear the screams of car horns and people and tires, and he wonders, just as he slips out of consciousness, if anyone else is hurt. If the other car – a huge ugly truck with tinted windows, trying to pass on a hill – was also flipped on its roof on the hard shoulder. He doesn’t find out before the light starts disappearing. It feels almost familiar, even though it’s only the second time.

 

*

 

Ryan sits on the edge of the hospital bed, playing with his phone. His call log shows the two outgoing calls the paramedic had made – both to Shane – only a few hours ago. He hadn’t picked up, it had gone to voicemail. Ryan knows this because he heard it, lying on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, heard the paramedic swear. “Why does nobody pick up the goddamn phone anymore?” she’d said. Her partner was busy administering CPR to Ryan. Ryan wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him he didn’t have to bother, but he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t move.

He had been scanned and prodded and examined at the hospital, was hooked up to machines to keep him alive, heard different doctors and nurses discussing his likelihood of waking up after brain surgery. It sounded grim, and Ryan wondered, vague and hazy, what would happen if they tried to operate on a brain that was healing itself.

He didn’t have to wonder for long. He had come back into himself suddenly, choking on his intubation, in an empty room. He had managed to remove the tube, his IV, and most of the sensors on his chest before a nurse rushed in, his face a picture of perfect shock. “How are you awake?” he had asked as Ryan bent over his own knees, coughing, laughing.

Medical miracles aren’t treated with much fanfare when there are other people dying, it turns out. Someone returned Ryan’s phone, informed him that his emergency contact had finally been reached and was on his way. Then he’s alone again, inexplicably alive, staring at his call log. He kills the screen and studies his reflection, tries to look for signs that he died. He just looks tired.

There’s a sound in the hallway like shoes skidding against linoleum and suddenly the door is thrown open. The sight of Shane is like a punch in the gut – he looks wild, his hair a wreck, his shirt untucked. One of his shoelaces is untied. Ryan is so happy to see him it makes him a little nauseous.

“I was – I had my phone off. I was at the  _movies_. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Shane is frozen in the doorway, hands braced either side of the door frame. He looks a little like a cartoon character.

“It’s fine. Shane, it’s okay, I’m okay.” Ryan stands, extends his arms and turns in a demonstrable circle. “It’s all good.”

“I can’t believe –  _again_.”

Ryan laughs weakly. “Thank god for the storm, right?”

Shane takes a few halting steps into the room, knocking the door shut behind him. He tentatively joins Ryan by the bed, standing close enough to touch. He’s examining Ryan like he’s missed a wound or injury somehow. “Jesus, I was so scared. They said you hit your head, you were in a coma, they – I could tell it was bad. Thought maybe you were brain dead I didn’t know if – fuck, Ryan, you’re driving me to an early grave.” Shane’s voice cracks on the joke. “Stop – stop  _dying_.”

“I’ll try,” Ryan says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – it was an accident. I wasn’t trying to prove it, or anything like that. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Shane exhales. He looks exhausted, Ryan realizes suddenly. “Too late for that. I’m always worried about you.”

“I’m worried about  _you_ ,” Ryan says, moving forward to grasp Shane’s arm. “I’m fine, it’s you that’s – that’s losing it. I worry about you all the time.”

“And I love you for that. And a lot of other reasons.” To his credit, Shane barely reacts as he says it. He doesn’t even break eye contact. “I realize that might be – a lot, right now, with everything else that’s happening, but – I thought you  _died_ , Ryan,  _again_. So – yeah. There it is.”

Ryan’s still holding Shane’s arm. He’s not sure how to let go. “Oh,” he says.

“I don’t – this doesn’t need to be some weird thing. You know I love you, this shouldn’t be like, a  _shock_. I told you when I saw a ghost. I didn’t tell anyone else.” It sounds like Shane is rationalizing it for Ryan’s benefit.

“You don’t have to – explain. I know.” Ryan shakes his head. “I mean, I love you too, you know that.”

Shane smiles a little. “Yeah. Good. Well –” he coughs. “Should we, uh, do some back-slapping to absolve ourselves of the vulnerability?” That is definitely for Ryan’s benefit – the look in Shane’s eyes is nothing  _but_ vulnerable, unashamed and open. Shane, always making concessions for Ryan.

“Nah,” Ryan says. “I think we’re past that.” Then, surprising himself with how easy it is to say, “I could go for a hug though.”

Shane pulls him in immediately, tucks his cheek against Ryan’s head. He squeezes Ryan’s shoulder with one hand, stroking the other along the spot between Ryan’s shoulder blades. Ryan lets himself relax against the flannel of Shane’s shirt, looping his arms around Shane’s waist. He can grip opposite elbows easily – there’s not much to Shane, beanpole that he is – and snorts to himself. “I hear you laughing at how skinny I am,” Shane murmurs, and Ryan feels his voice rumble through his ribs. The sound sets the hair at the back of his neck upright.

“It’s like hugging a tree,” Ryan says, not moving. “A young tree. What’s the word? Sapling.”

“Really? A sapling?”

“Yeah.” Ryan closes his eyes. He can hear Shane’s heartbeat. “Shane ‘Sapling’ Madej.”

“What does that make you?” Shane is still stroking his back.

“I don’t know. Whatever works for the bit.”

“Okay,” Shane says, but doesn’t offer any suggestions.

They stand like that for a while, just the two of them in a hospital room, hugging. Ryan breathes Shane in and Shane breathes Ryan in – if his nose buried in Ryan’s hair is any indication – and Ryan is  _alive_ , and everything is okay.

“Are there a lot of ghosts here?” Ryan asks, muffled against Shane’s body. “Hospital, death, you know.”

Shane shakes his head. “Don’t think so. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Good.”

“Shall we go?” Shane unspools his arms, but doesn’t pull away entirely. “Now that you’re not dead you’ll have to deal with so much paperwork. And you need a new car.”

Ryan groans. “I wasn’t really thinking any further than this. I forgot about my fucking car.”

“It’s okay, we can use mine in the meantime,” Shane says. He slides his arm up so it’s hooked around Ryan’s shoulders and steers them towards the door.

 

*

 

They have been circling each other for a while, Ryan sees it now. Before the storm, before their powers, maybe even before Unsolved – but that becomes too much to deal with. That’s an uncomfortably long narrative. So Ryan just focuses on  _before the storm_ , the event that changed everything, that he credits with changing  _them._  Post-storm Ryan holds Shane’s hand. Post-storm Shane lets him. Post-storm Shane makes Ryan’s blood run warm through his body, makes his skin chafe against his clothes, like everything he’s wearing fits him wrong. Post-storm Shane looks at Ryan like – like – Ryan doesn’t know. Post-storm Shane leaves Ryan at a loss for words. Post-storm Ryan doesn’t mind.

It’s only recently that Ryan has accepted he might be wrong. That all of those things might have been true before the storm. It’s a weird thing to think about, him and Shane sans-powers holding hands. He wonders if they would have ever gotten there if the storm had never happened. What would their excuse have been?

 

*

 

It’s early October. Ryan is gearing up for Halloween, has pumpkins all over his desk at work. They’re the mini ones you can buy in bags for a few bucks. Shane snidely informs him that they’re  _gourds_ , not real pumpkins, and Ryan flips him off. When he comes back from a meeting later Shane isn’t at his desk, and all of Ryan’s pumpkins have faces drawn on them in Sharpie.

“It’s a weird time to see ghosts,” Shane says later as they leave work together. They’re taking Ryan’s (new) car back to Shane’s place, a plan that they never even voiced out loud. “Halloween season.”

“I’ll dress up as a ghost for Halloween,” Ryan tells him, unlocking the car. “And you can dress up as a Ghost Buster.”

“Sure,” Shane says, sliding into the passenger seat. He’s got it extended as far back as it goes to accommodate his ridiculous legs. “Very on brand. Everyone will love it.”

Ryan snorts. “Everyone will love that we’re doing a couple’s costume. We could dress up as anything and they’d love it.”

Shane inclines his head slightly, and beyond that does not respond. Ryan feels himself flush as he pulls out of the lot. He fiddles with the radio dial as they join the flow of rush hour traffic, wishing he hadn’t phrased it like that, hadn’t said anything at all.

“Ryan,” Shane says when they stop at a red light. “Are you freaking out right now?”

“No!” 

“Because it seems like you’re freaking out.” 

“Well I’m  _not_.” 

“I know we’re doing a couple’s costume. It’s a good idea.” 

“I know it is.” 

“You can use that word. I’m not gonna  _no homo_  you.”

Ryan looks at Shane. Shane looks back.

“Light’s green,” Shane says before Ryan can decide what he wants to ask, exactly. Ryan sputters and tries to focus on driving normally even as his pulse is hammering in his ears.

“So –” Ryan says, starting a sentence without knowing where he’s going. “So –”

“So, not no homo. A little homo. A bit of homo.”

Ryan’s already cracking up. “A bit of homo on the side. A slice of homo. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Shane ‘Slice of Homo’ Madej.”

 “Okay,” Ryan says, because he can work with this. “Same.”

“Cool.”

They drive for a while in silence, except for the burbling of the radio, turned down low. They’re only a few blocks from Shane’s place. Ryan wonders for an anxious moment what they will do when they get there, if things will be weird now.

“Is this all because I told you I loved you?” Shane asks, breaking Ryan out of his inner panic spiral. “This homo talk.”

“You were the one who said homo!”

Shane holds up his hands. “Okay true. I did. But you said couple first.”

“I – I didn’t mean it like that, if that’s – weird. And to answer your question, no, I probably would have said that if you hadn’t told me you loved me.” Ryan’s pretty sure he’s turning red. He feels like a teenager.

“Oh. Good.” Shane pauses. “I don’t want you to – feel like you have to do or say certain things just because of that, you know? I just wanted to tell you, nothing has to change if you don’t want it to." 

“Okay,” Ryan says. He pulls into Shane’s parking lot, kills the engine. The car feels very small, suddenly. “What do  _you_  want?”

Shane smooths his hands over his knees, considering. “Well – I’m happy to just continue as we are. But if you were – if you wanted to, um, change that, then – I’d be on board.” Ryan realizes Shane is nervous. The thought almost makes him laugh – Shane is so rarely nervous about anything other than ghosts. He also has no reason to be nervous, because Ryan’s had butterflies for most of the car ride. 

“You don’t have to decide now, or anything,” Shane is saying, picking at the seam of his jeans. “You can think about it.”

“I’m the one who said couple,” Ryan says, as much to himself as to Shane.

Shane looks over at him. “You did.”

When Ryan leans over the center console Shane meets him halfway. Ryan is distantly aware that he’s making some pretty embarrassing noises but he doesn’t care, only cares about the way Shane’s hand feels against his face, the way Shane’s mouth feels on his. When they break apart for air, Shane’s pupils are blown. Ryan can’t handle it.

“Up?” Shane asks, gesturing at his building. “I mean – do you wanna come up? Um.”

Ryan can’t resist. “I’d rather go _down_ –” He doesn’t even get a chance to finish the joke before Shane is kissing him again, mixing up their laughter.

 

*

 

“Hey Ryan,” Shane says a while later, still slightly out of breath, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “We’re superheroes.”

Ryan fixes Shane with a suspicious look. “This better not just be pillow talk.”

Shane laughs. “What, you think I’m just saying it because of the afterglow?”

“Maybe.”

“Like I’m going to pretend I didn’t say it later?”

“I don’t know, maybe post-orgasm Shane just tells people what they want to hear.”

“You’re so – you’re so fucking weird.”

Ryan shrugs. “You obviously love it.” He gestures to them both, naked and tangled together.

“I really, really do.” Shane drops a kiss on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan had wondered what Shane would be like like this, and it turns out the answer is sweetly affectionate in a way that Ryan hadn’t expected. 

“So if this isn’t just pillow talk – why the change?”

Shane’s expression sobers. “There’s no other explanation – you died again and you came back again and I guess I don’t want to keep doubting the universe.”

“That’s all it took, huh?”

“Yeah. But don’t get any ideas – I don’t want you dying to win arguments.” 

“I would  _never_.”

 

*

 

Ryan thinks maybe things will be weird after, but they’re not. In the weeks that follow they go to work and hang out and carpool. They grab drinks with people on the weekend. Ryan pitches a new list of locations for Unsolved. Shane sees a ghost at Chipotle. It’s all bizarrely, wonderfully normal.

“I can’t believe that’s our normal,” Shane says when Ryan mentions it. “Like – this is just life now. Me seeing ghosts. You being impervious to all physical damage.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

Shane pauses, glances sidelong at Ryan. They’re on Ryan’s couch, each working on different things, and it’s the same as before except now Shane will drop a kiss on Ryan’s head when he goes to get snacks. “I’m glad you were there with me, when the storm happened.” Shane says. Then grimaces. “Is that a shitty thing to say? 

“No, I get it; I’m glad we got them together.”

Shane puffs a laugh. “Package deal, baby. Ghoul boys, now with powers.”

Ryan gasps loudly. “You said it, you  _admit_  it!”

“We’ve been calling ourselves the ghoul boys for age–”

“ _Shut up_ , oh my god,” Ryan says, and kisses Shane because he can, now. It’s the most reliable way to shut Shane up these days. It’s also one of the only things Ryan can think about, even with all the ghosts and immortality.

“Wow,” Shane says when they break for air. “Who knew all it would take is some powers for you to finally admit you’ve got the hots for me.”

“I’m gonna murder you,” Ryan tells him, hands tangled in Shane’s collar. He’s out of breath, which takes some of the menace out of it. “Seriously. They’ll never find the body. I’ll dig the world’s longest grave and –”

Kissing is also the more reliable way to shut Ryan up, as it turns out.

 

*

 

Deciding to try and communicate with ghosts, and actually doing it, are two very different things.

“How do we even do this?” Shane asks one day. They’re in a hotel on location for true crime, and Shane has assured Ryan that there are no ghostly presences so they are relaxing. “Do we – do we just go looking for ghosts?”

“Unsolved is actually perfect for this,” Ryan says. He has been thinking about this a lot lately, but wanted to wait for Shane to bring it up. “We’re literally going to haunted locations all the time. We can – we can just go back after we’ve filmed, and figured out the lay of the land, and we can exorcise anything that’s there.” 

“I feel like ‘exorcise’ is the wrong word,” Shane says, not looking up from his laptop screen. “Most of them aren’t malicious. They don’t need to be hassled they’re just lost. Lost and dead.”

“Okay, so – what? What do we call it? Crossing over?”

Shane sets his laptop down, looks over at Ryan. He’s wearing pyjama pants that are slightly too short on him, made more apparent by him sitting cross-legged. For a tall person he looks small, in that moment, somehow. “Stop trying to make me into Jennifer Love-Hewitt.”

Ryan snorts. “Okay, okay. Not crossing over.”

“I mean, we’re helping them. It should sound, I don’t know, sincere.”

“We’re basically making sure they’re okay, right? And like – helping them if they’re lost? 

“Yeah. Like ghost search and rescue.”

Ryan’s jabs a finger at Shane. “Yeah! Yeah, we’re search and rescue! We’re rescuing them.” He sits down next to Shane, close enough that their shoulders are touching.

“Bit late for that,” Shane says, but he’s got a smile tugging at his mouth. “Okay, fine. Search and rescue. Is that gonna be our logo? A big S and R?”

“We’ll have the logo printed on, though. You’re right about my sewing.”

“I’m always right. except for, y’know, the ghost thing.” Shane strokes a thumb over Ryan’s cheek, suddenly, impulsively. Ryan stills immediately. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean to make it weird or – anything.”

“You didn’t make it weird. You can touch me.” Ryan leans into Shane’s hand. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”

“Yeah,” Shane says, nonsensically. “Okay, good.” There’s a burr in his voice, it makes Ryan’s skin prickle. “It’s just weird to be able to, still. Good weird. But weird.”

“Did you – um. Did you want to, before?”

“Touch you? Yes.”

“Really?” Ryan’s curious, flattered, warm. “For how long?”

“Hard to say. It snuck up on me.” Shane runs his fingertips over the top of Ryan’s ear, movement like he’s tucking hair away even though Ryan’s is too short for it. His touch raises goosebumps along Ryan’s skin. “How long have you wanted me to touch you?”

Ryan weighs his options. “A long time,” he says, watching Shane’s face for signs of surprise. “Like – a long time.”

Shane tilts his head, and he looks so thoroughly pleased that Ryan forgets to feel embarrassed. The fold together onto the bed and Ryan forgets that he’s immortal, forgets that ghosts are real, forgets everything that isn’t Shane.

 

*

 

It takes a while, but they have some decent luck with project Search and Rescue. Many of the ghosts that Shane describes seem happy just to be acknowledged. There are a handful that want answers, that try to ask questions, but not all of them can make themselves heard. Those that can ask about the year and what has happened in the years since they died. Some of them ask about loved ones. Some of them ask if they’re in heaven or hell. After a while, though, they flicker and disappear, leaving Ryan and Shane to trail back to their motel room.

They have a lot of unsuccessful attempts, too. Sometimes the ghosts ignore them. Sometimes they seem actively agitated by being addressed – Shane describes their tortured expressions, silent babbling. He makes them sound more like creatures than people, reduced down to instinct and reaction in a way that makes Ryan ache to see them.

Overall, though, it’s _working_. They’re doing it. Ryan hasn’t felt this sense of fulfillment possibly ever; it’s intoxicating, the feeling. He worries for a while that it isn’t doing the same for Shane – that Shane is just going along with it for Ryan’s benefit. But then he starts paying attention to Shane’s face when he tells Ryan that a ghost has moved on; the way his voice wavers.

It doesn’t take long for Ryan to stop worrying.

 

*

 

They’re hanging out with TJ in a bar after work. TJ had accosted them both the day before, informed them that he hadn’t seen them for ages outside of work and was beginning to forget that they were friends, and so here they are.

“Want another drink?” Shane asks Ryan. They’re pressed up against each other. The booth is small, but not that small, and Ryan has the presence of mind to wonder if they should put some space between them. He can’t make himself care. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He’s still got beer left but there’s no harm in getting a head start. “I’ll go grab a round.”

“No, no, I got it. Teej?”

“Sure,” TJ says.

“Okay, be right back.” Shane hesitates for a split second, then presses a kiss to the side of Ryan’s face, just above his cheekbone. It could easily have been played for a joke, probably, if it weren’t for Shane’s execution: slower than necessary. Soft. Just a shade too intimate for a bar in front of a friend who, for all Ryan knows, assumed they were both straight until literally this very second. Shane doesn’t seem to be having this internal rundown, just slides out of the booth and lopes off. 

“How long has  _that_ been going on?” TJ asks, eyes comically wide.

Ryan takes a pull on his beer, just for something to do. His face is burning. “Uh, officially? Like a month or something.”

“And unofficially?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Ryan looks over at Shane, leaning against the bar and still managing to loom over nearly everyone else around him. “A while.”

TJ whistles. “Well. That definitely explains why you guys are AWOL all the time. I mean, I’m happy for you morons, it took you long enough.”

Some of the tension is Ryan’s shoulders eases. He smiles. “Thanks, Teej.”

“You guys going public? The fans will lose their goddamn minds.”

“We haven’t really talked about it yet. I guess we will eventually.”

TJ shakes his head. He’s grinning, not a trace of judgment or derision in it. “So many people owe me money. I’m gonna clean up – next round’s on me.”

“Jesus, you  _bet_  on us?”

“I’ve been in close proximity to your flirting for years. What, did you think you both had everyone fooled?”

Shane comes back then, deposits beers on the table and slides into the booth next to Ryan. He seems entirely unruffled.

Ryan downs his beer, grabs another. He elbows Shane in the ribs. ”TJ bet on us.”

“Oh?” Shane asks, innocently. “On what, specifically?”

TJ snorts. ”On whether or not you guys would come to your senses. I was the only one to have any faith in you, for the record. I want a shout out at your wedding.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re  _invited_ ,” Shane says, not missing a beat.

Later, when they leave the bar, Shane keeps his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. It feels – not normal, exactly. It feels right. Like they’re finally moving down the correct path, acclimating together.

The bar is close enough to Shane’s apartment that they see TJ into a cab and then start walking together, Ryan still tucked under Shane’s arm. Ryan’s not that drunk – a little warm, but that might just be Shane’s body heat. He pushes Shane into a pool of shadow and kisses him. The novelty of being in semi-public is exciting and stressful. They break apart at the sound of distant laughter, walk another block, come back together again.

They’re moments from Shane’s place when Shane stiffens in Ryan’s arms. Ryan draws back, immediately on edge. “What is it?”

“I. Someone’s here.”

Ryan whips around, half-expecting some jackass, someone sneering at them, someone recording them. There’s nothing there. 

“No – no, not like that,” Shane says like he can read Ryan’s mind. “A ghostly someone.”

Ryan feels an absurd sense of relief. “Oh. Good.”

Shane looks like he’s holding back a laugh. “Yeah, good thing it’s only a ghost. Only a spirit trapped on this earth, unable to find eternal peace.”

“Yeah, and ghosts can’t hurt y– us. So.”

Shane makes a surprised noise. “Okay, we’re putting a pin in  _that_  for now. Gotta deal with this guy.”

“Okay. Go time.” Ryan straightens up. “Talk me through it.”

“He looks – he’s lost, he looks lost and sad.” Shane’s voice breaks a little. “He’s – okay. Anyway, he’s maybe our age? 20s clothes.” He grasps Ryan by the shoulders, turns him slightly. “Okay. You’re facing him.”

“Hey,” Ryan says, trying to keep his voice low and even. “My name’s Ryan.” He glances sidelong at Shane.

Shane nods encouragingly, eyes still fixed on a spot just ahead. Ryan clears his throat.

“I can’t see you but my friend here can. His name is Shane. He’s the only one who can see you. You – you’re dead, um. It’s 2019, I’m not sure when you died, but you did.” Ryan pauses. Shane hasn’t interrupted him yet so he continues. “I’m really sorry I have to tell you this. I’m sorry if this is confusing.”

Shane nods. Ryan continues. “I – I think you might be lost. Stuck in a loop. If there’s anything you need, we can try and help. You can tell Shane.”

Ryan waits. Watches as Shane’s expression softens. After a moment, Shane looks away, swipes at his eyes. “He’s gone,” Shane says. “He got it.”

“Wh–? Really? That’s all it took?”

“I think that’s usually all they need.” Shane is bright-eyed, but he’s smiling a little. “You did good. He listened to you. You should have seen his face when you started talking to him.”

“I wish I could.”

“This is – still weird, for me.”

“For you? I’m the one talking to nothing.”

“I’m not entirely unconvinced that we’re not – like, having a shared psychotic break, a shared delusion, or – something.”

Ryan takes Shane’s hand. Squeezes it. “Okay. So worst case scenario, we’re both crazy. Who cares?”

Shane blinks. “Who cares.”

“Yeah. Who cares? We’ve just got – a weird imaginative hobby.”

“Hm. That does actually makes me feel better.” Shane squints at him. “How do you do that?”

Ryan grins. “I’m a superhero, baby.”

 

*

 

Rural Idaho in November. The storm comes out of nowhere.

They pull over on a dirt road halfway to their next location. TJ and the crew are in another car up ahead, their sights set on the next burger joint a few miles away. Shane is driving for once while Ryan naps in the passenger seat, his head tipped back so that Shane can see the jut of his Adam’s apple. He’s snoring so loud it’s almost drowning out the music Shane put on. He doesn’t wake up when Shane stops the car and he has to poke him in the shoulder. The snoring cuts off abruptly.

“Hey, Ry. I gotta piss. Can you text Teej that we’ll catch up?” Shane presses the car keys into Ryan’s hand.

“Mmyeeaah,” Ryan mumbles through a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. He always sleeps badly on planes, and despite it being the middle of the day, he’s got dark bags under his eyes. Shane feels bad for waking him, but nature calls.

Shane picks his way down the ditch at the side of the road. It’s all long grass, grown too tall to stand and slumped over, like the ground is growing out its hair. Shane almost slips a few times but he makes it down to the bottom, where a crust of ice has formed. Bits of snow dance in the air. Shane stops a little way away from the car and unzips, squinting around the scrubby field, the trees that bow slightly with each gust of chill wind. Shane misses the cold, sometimes, when he’s in LA. Misses time-keeping by real seasons. It  _feels_  like November.

The car door slams behind him, and he hears Ryan swearing. He glances behind him. Ryan is huddled in his sweatshirt, looking miserable.

“Gotta piss, too,” he calls. “Cuz you woke me. Asshole.”

Shane has a sarcastic retort ready to go, but a gust of wind sends him skittering back two steps. He wasn’t braced – he nearly trips. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up. “It’s windy as fuck down here, be careful you don’t fly away.”

“That’s cuz you’re built like a bird. I’m  _not_  –” Ryan loses his footing, yelps, and skids down the grass to land in a graceless heap near Shane.

“Sorry,” Shane says cupping a hand around his ear, crouching down exaggeratedly, “sorry, what was that? I didn’t catch that – who’s built like a bird?”

Ryan flips him off and tries to scramble up, but another gust knocks him down. “What – what the fuck, dude, what’s up with this weather?”

The sky is black – the kind of dark that feels ominous, feels like it belongs to the nighttime. Shane’s gut twists. “We should go back to the car.”

“Yeah.” Ryan accepts Shane’s hand, lets him pull him to his feet. “Let’s –”

A branch nearby snaps, suddenly, buckled under the wind. Hale the size of golf balls starts falling from the sky. “Let’s move,” Shane barks, grabbing Ryan by the arm. “We need to –”

Another snap. Another gust. Shane lets go of Ryan, stumbles back a few steps. He feels tossed around, tiny, helpless. They’re so close to their car – if they can only get back to it.

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane yells, his voice breaking. “Ryan, look out!” A tree branch whips past Ryan’s head, narrowly missing him. The wind isn’t wind anymore, but something else, a small cyclone starting to form. The clouds above them are so dark that the sky has disappeared. Ryan has fallen over, sprawled on the ground, not getting up. Just staring up at the roiling mess.

The air feels  _charged_. Shane can feel the hair on his arms standing up. “Ryan!” His voice is out of control. It comes out as a scream. “Ryan, we have to –”

There’s a crack so loud Shane feels it in his chest. The whole field goes from dark to bright like someone flipped a switch. A small voice that sounds a lot like Ryan whispers  _aliens_  in the back of Shane’s panicked mind. Shane expects to see a ship hovering somewhere above them, beyond the searing light.

When it comes down, the lightning is forked, connecting with dead grass in several places and with flesh in several others. It pins them like insects under needles. Shane smells burning hair. His whole body is on fire. He can’t make a sound –

When Shane comes to, he’s lying on his back on the ground. The sky above him is clear. He even hears a bird chirp somewhere, and for a moment, he thinks  _it was just a dream_.

“Hey – hey, Shane, bud, talk to me.” Ryan is crouched next to him, his face drawn. “Shane? Are you okay? Can you sit up?”

Shane can – he pushes himself up on his elbows, surprised that he hurts but doesn’t seem damaged. “What the fuck was that?”

“Freak storm, I guess. Are you hurt?” Ryan sounds uncharacteristically steady.

Shane shakes his head, looking around. chunks of ice are strewn around them, broken pieces of tree branches. The air is still. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Ryan pulls Shane to his feet, warm hands steady on his elbow and forearm. Shane misses the feeling as soon as it’s gone.

They climb back up the ditch. The sun is out, suddenly, the clouds entirely cleared. Mist is curling around the edges of things. The earth is starting to steam. Ryan slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the ignition. “You coming?” he calls to Shane, peering at him through the passenger window. “Shane?”

“Yeah,” Shane says, and he folds himself into the car, his whole body still buzzing strangely. He looks back down the embankment, to the spot where, moments before, they had both been – what, exactly? Struck by lightning? The whole thing feels surreal, like a dream dreamt midday. The sky is bright – was there even a storm? Weren’t the trees always broken, the branches always scattered?

He buckles in. Ryan starts to pull back onto the road. Shane thinks he sees a figure standing in the field, blurred in his vision by the sun and the mist. A winter mirage.

When he blinks, it’s gone.


End file.
